Personalism: Why You Can Never Have “Full Communion”

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Note for the reader: A year ago, our son, Gabriel Augustine, was born and died. On October 24, 2025, he was born and subsequently passed away within hours. We knew he had a genetic condition, Trisomy-13, that would not let him survive, so the fact that he passed away was not a surprise. Nevertheless, having him and losing him is the hardest thing my wife and I — not to mention our children — have ever experienced. I baptized him in the operating room, and Father was there to give him the Sacrament of Confirmation soon after. He spent his short earthly sojourn surrounded by his family, and we love him as much today as we did then. Catholics should understand that we believe that baptism saves, and because of this, he went straight to Heaven, having been cleansed of Original Sin, shortly before breathing his last. He is our family Saint, and we miss him. There are perhaps no words in the English language — or any language — that can provide the proper vocabulary for how much we miss him. I promised God and my son that I would tell his story, so on this, the anniversary of his birth into our realm and the Heavenly, I present to you here something I wrote to him. “Before I formed thee in the bowels of thy mother, I knew thee: and before thou camest forth out of the womb, I sanctified thee, and made thee a prophet unto the nations.” (Jer 1:5) Dear Son, That passage I just shared with you is from the Bible — which I am sure you well know — and it is etched into your tombstone. Now, I imagine you know everything I am going to write to you here, given that you are in the Beatific Vision; nevertheless, writing these words to you is something I have wanted to do for a long while. I have thought about what to write for months now, and it has been hard to formulate my thoughts because there are so many. Of course, I speak to you every day, and you have heard the aching of my heart and the longings of my soul to be with you, but writing those thoughts down has proven difficult. When we first received your prognosis about three months before you were born, I initially thought I would keep a journal and write everything down. I was inspired by C.S. Lewis’ work, A Grief Observed, wherein he kept a journal, which became a book, about the loss of his wife and his journey of grief and acceptance. However, that didn’t come to pass, at least not yet. In any event, since this is your birthday, and it is really a double birthday — both earthly and heavenly — I thought I would try to write something beautiful to you and share with you the wonderful things you have done for us. There is enough pain in this world, and Heaven knows — as do you — that your mother and I have carried enough pain in our hearts. So, since birthdays are meant to be joyous occasions, and despite the fact that I miss you more than I need air, let us do our best to focus on the wonderful, the glorious, and the mysterious. Those three months waiting for you to arrive after the prognosis were, in a word, excruciating. Time has never moved so slowly. We weren’t sure if you were going to make it to birth, given your condition, but you did. Oh, my sweet boy, you were so strong, and you fought so hard. Your mother has given me eight children, you being the seventh, and you were more active than all of them in the womb. The doctors told us that we should be prepared that you may not make it to birth, and that you might not move all that much, but you did the complete opposite. Mummy and I would joke that it was like you were having a dance party in there. As pregnant women do, she would rest a plate of food on her belly while enjoying a late-night snack in bed, and it was so funny to watch the plate bounce back and forth. We prayed so hard that you would make it to birth so we could meet you and baptize you, and your constant movement was a consolation amidst the uncertainty. You were so adorable when you came out of the womb, and so full of life. I had never seen a baby with a cleft-l

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