Sky’s Limit

In Loving Memory of Silas

Hi everyone,

It’s that time of year again — the season when I send emails, make social media posts, and ask friends, colleagues, and even strangers to support our campaign for BC Children’s Hospital Foundation.

If you don’t know why I advocate so openly and unapologetically for BC Children’s Hospital Foundation, I’ve included last year’s story here. The short version is this: our angel Silas briefly visited this world to warn us about his big sister Skylar’s heart condition. Because of him, Skylar’s cardiomyopathy was discovered and is now being carefully managed.

This year, I want to share what happened after that fateful night. In many ways, the aftermath has stayed with me even more deeply than the tragedy itself.

Soon after Silas collapsed in his mother’s arms, he was connected to ECMO — extracorporeal membrane oxygenation — an advanced form of life support that can temporarily take over the work of the heart and lungs. My memory of those hours is blurry, but I believe he was also connected to dialysis.

Truthfully, my wife Bebe and I did not fully understand the weight of what had happened in that moment. I remember us telling each other how scared we were, while also trying to figure out how we would tell my mother, who was at home looking after Skylar.

In our shock and naivety, after Silas was moved to the Pediatric ICU, we thought: “Okay, we may be here for a long time. We should go home and prepare for a long hospital stay.”

So we drove home and made instant noodles because we had not eaten dinner. Of course, neither of us had any appetite. We just knew we were supposed to eat something. We drank a bit of the soup and threw away the noodles.

Bebe drove back to the hospital that night to stay with Silas. Since we thought we would be in the hospital for a long time, I dropped our two dogs off at the kennel first thing the next morning before returning.

I arrived just as the medical team was getting ready to take Silas for a CT scan of his brain. A couple of hours later, we were given the news no parent should ever hear: Silas was no longer with us, and the machines were only sustaining his body.

The tears would not stop.

Eventually, we made the unbearable decision to let him go. The doctor also suggested taking a small muscle tissue sample for further testing. It might help us understand what we were dealing with — and, more importantly, it might help his big sister Skylar.

So, on the morning of the third day after we arrived at the ER with Silas, we kissed him for the last time and said our final goodbye.

Bebe held Silas in her arms as she was wheeled with him toward the autopsy area. We asked the doctor to come out and let us know when everything was done.

I should share a bit of background. My father has long been a believer in Pure Land Buddhism, a branch of Mahayana Buddhism focused on rebirth in a celestial realm associated with Amitabha Buddha. It emphasizes chanting Amitabha’s name and the belief that, through this recitation, one can be saved.

Bebe and I are not Buddhists ourselves, but given the circumstances, we did not push back on the idea that Silas would be saved by Amitabha. So after Silas was taken into the autopsy area, we sat in the hallway and started chanting.

What happened next is difficult to explain. I am not offering it as proof of anything. I am simply sharing the experience as I lived it.

Only a few minutes after Silas was taken inside, we heard a loud newborn baby crying.

This may sound strange, but in that moment, we worried that the crying might somehow pull him back toward this world. So Bebe and I began praying to him:

Don’t come back. The human world is full of suffering. Go to the Pure Land. Come back only if it is to help others.

Then, suddenly, the crying stopped.

A little later, while we were still sitting on the floor in the hallway, two women walked past us. Through all the background noise, we could clearly hear one say to the other, “Follow me — this is the way. This is the skywalk.”

We went back to chanting.

About 20 or 30 minutes later, I felt Bebe nudge me hard. I looked up and saw her pointing to the left in disbelief. I turned my head and saw the back of a person walking away. I honestly could not tell whether it was a man or a woman. But this person was carrying a canvas bag, and on the side facing us was one large, clear Chinese character:

佛 (Buddha)

I felt as though I had been struck by lightning. Tears started pouring down my face again. The person turned a corner and disappeared. I looked at Bebe, and we both sat there crying, unable to say a word.

Growing up in China, religion was not really part of daily life, and when I was younger, I even took pride in being rational and skeptical. For a time, I identified as an atheist. I believed that an omnipresent God or Buddha was simply a story people created to help us survive life’s deepest difficulties. Maybe everything I saw and heard in the hallway outside the autopsy department that day was coincidence. Maybe it wasn’t. I do not claim to know.

But when I saw the Chinese character for Buddha appear on that canvas bag at that exact moment — one of the defining moments of my life — I knew, with a certainty I cannot explain, that Silas was in a good place, walking alongside the Buddha, or God, or whatever name you give to that grace — and that somehow, we would be okay.

What I also know is that faith can be a beautiful and powerful thing. It is like projecting yourself into a future where your deepest wish has come true, where your suffering has been healed — and then letting that future self reach back and pull you up from the despair you are living in today.

Right now, there are many families at BC Children’s Hospital who are living through their own version of fear, uncertainty, and heartbreak. I am sure many of them have faith that their children will be placed in the best possible hands at BC Children’s.

But we can help make that faith even stronger.

Think of the thousands of children who need diagnosis and treatment through the Children’s Heart Centre. Think of the hundreds of children admitted to the Pediatric ICU each year. Think of the thousands of children who undergo surgery. Behind every number is a child, a family, and a story.

Our collective resources can help improve patient care, fund critical equipment, and support the next breakthrough in research.

So I ask you to join my family in supporting BC Children’s Hospital Foundation. Please consider donating to our campaign. Better yet, come out and join our team on June 7, 2026. Run with us. Walk with us. Bring your family. Show up for the children and families facing the hardest days of their lives.

It’s a wonderful event for little ones, but more than that, it is a chance for all of us to turn compassion into action. Every donation, no matter the size, helps bring hope, care, and strength to families at BC Children’s — a way of telling them: you are not alone.

Thank you for your time, your support, and your kindness.

In loving memory of Silas,

Jason, Bebe, Skylar, and the rest of our family