Still Celebrating, Still Grieving: Austin’s 12th Birthday in Heaven
- Mom & Dad / Co-Founders
- Jun 27
- 6 min read
June 27, 2025. Austin would have turned 12 today.
Twelve.
That number hits hard. It’s a number that reflects so much more than time—it represents growth, milestones, and memories we never got to make. As parents, birthdays should be days of laughter, balloons, cakes, and joyful chaos. But when your child is no longer physically here, birthdays become something else entirely. They become a beautiful ache—a collision of celebration and grief. They’re the loudest whispers of what was and what could’ve been.
For us—Lindsey and Anthony—June 27, 2013, is one of the most important days of our lives. It was the day the world met our son, Anthony Austin Terling Jr. It was the day that God gifted us a miracle wrapped in strength, a bright light, and resilience. And even though his time here only lasted nine short years, Austin changed the world around him. He changed us.
This marks Austin’s third heavenly birthday. It still feels unreal to write those words. We never imagined we’d spend more birthdays without him than with him. But here we are—navigating year three without seeing his smile, hearing his laugh, or holding his hand.
We celebrate today as we always will—with tears and love, in equal measure.
The Hardest Times That Shaped Us
Life with Austin wasn’t easy and that is putting it lightly. It wasn’t the picture-perfect parenting journey you read about in books or see on TV. Austin was medically complex from the start. From his earliest moments, he faced challenge after challenge—dislocated hips, countless appointments, tests, feeding difficulties, and a body that never let him rest easily. For most of his life, he required 24/7 care. We operated on three-four hours of sleep and sheer willpower for years.
We weren’t just his parents. We were his nurses, therapists, advocates, and protectors. Every minute of every day was built around his needs. And that takes a toll—emotionally, physically, spiritually. There were days when we didn’t know how we’d keep going. There were nights filled with alarms, 911 calls, and fear. And there were mornings when the sun rose, and we realized we had survived another day. Each day blended into the next, making it difficult to find happiness and hope from what you witnessed and were only managing and not controlling. We joked that it was like the movie Groundhog Day in the Terling household.
But somehow, in all that heaviness, Austin brought light.
He had a way of making people feel seen and loved—without ever needing to say a word. He taught us how to live in the moment, how to be brave when the odds were stacked against us, and how to find gratitude in the smallest victories. His courage gave us ours.
And his love reminded us that purpose can exist even in pain.
Support That Carried Us
While our journey was very isolating at times, we were never truly alone. We leaned on a village of family and friends who refused to let us fall. Meals appeared on our doorstep without us asking. Prayers were spoken across cities and states. People sat with us, cried with us, laughed with us. We could see and feel the fear and helplessness in our family members as they navigated the uncharted waters with us trying to find ways to help and care for Austin.
Our support system gave us strength when our tanks were empty. We often say it takes a village to raise a child—but when that child is medically fragile, it takes a village just to survive. And we did, because of the love that surrounded us.
That love continues to show up in countless ways—even now. On Austin’s birthdays, in memorials, at events, and in random acts of kindness, people carry his name forward. And that is the greatest gift we could ever receive. Lindsey and I often talk about the many people we will never know that Austin's life touched or that the Austin 1st Foundation's mission will impact.
Bittersweet Birthdays
Birthdays with Austin were never ordinary. Each one felt like a miracle. We knew, deep down, that we couldn’t take anything for granted. Every birthday was a milestone doctors weren’t sure he’d reach. And so we celebrated them with a mix of joy and heartbreak.
There was always the shadow of “how many more?”—a thought that haunted us even in moments of celebration. We tried to push it aside, but it lingered, quietly reminding us of our reality.
Austin’s birthdays were full of love, yet marked by the weight of the unknown. That’s a feeling many rare disease families know well. It’s a complex mix— preparing and grieving the future while celebrating the present. It’s learning to smile through tears, to cheer while your heart breaks. We choose to wake up each day with that mindset, regardless of how heavy our hearts may be.
And now, birthdays bring a different kind of grief. We don’t get to blow out candles or unwrap his gifts for him. We don’t get to wonder what would light up his eyes and make him smile. Instead, we wonder who he would’ve become or who he would've looked more like.
We’ll never get answers to those questions. But we’ll never stop imagining.
The Pain of “What Could’ve Been”
When Austin passed, it felt like half of our future disappeared. All the dreams we had—the family vacations, holidays, school events, graduations—they vanished. It wasn’t just losing Austin. It was losing the life we imagined with him. It is an odd and hard to describe feeling when you try to fill a void of a child in your life, let alone one you cared for on a 24/7 basis.
And now, as we raise his younger brother Sullivan, who had an 85% chance in having the same condition Austin had, we feel the ache of those “firsts” all over again. The first t-ball game. The first school performance. The first Christmas program. All moments we never got to experience with Austin, whether that was due to his disabilities or him not being on this earth.
There’s a strange grief in celebrating milestones with your second child that your first never got. It’s a mix of pride and sadness. It’s a reminder that joy and pain can coexist in the same breath. It is a strange and uncomfortable feeling to have nearly five years of living as a family of four and potentially living the rest of our lives as a family of three.
And as the days go on, Sullivan will ask more questions. He’ll want to know who Austin was, what he liked, what kind of brother he would’ve been. And we’ll tell him the truth:
That his brother was a warrior. That he changed people’s lives. That he changed our lives. That he loved deeply. And that even though Sullivan only got to grow up with Austin by his side for a short time period, Austin is always with us and in everything we do.
The Mission Austin Left Behind
Austin’s life taught us that our pain must have a purpose. That’s why we created the Austin 1st Foundation. It’s our way of honoring Austin while fighting for the families still walking this road.
Through RESEARCH, AWARENESS, CHANGE, and SUPPORT, we’re building a community for rare disease families. Because no one should have to fight alone.
We exist to give voice to the voiceless, hope to the hopeless, and light in the darkest corners. Austin’s life may have been rare, but his impact is anything but small. Every dollar we raise, every family we support, every advocate we empower—it all goes back to a little boy who beat the odds again and again, even though his race was cut short.
June 27 will always be etched into our souls. It was the day Austin entered the world. And now, it’s a day we recommit ourselves to making a difference in his name.
Because his story didn’t end on July 16, 2022. It lives on—in us, in you, and in every act of love we pour into the A1F mission.
Celebrating Austin at 12
So how do you celebrate the 12th birthday of a child in heaven?
You light a candle. You play his favorite music, even if it is Mickey Mouse Playhouse that you've heard a million times. You gather your loved ones. You look at photos and share stories.
You let yourself cry. You let yourself smile. You hold space for the pain and the pride. You let the day be whatever it needs to be.
The grieving process isn't a straightforward, predictable path with a clear beginning and end. And birthdays—especially heavenly ones—are never easy. But they are sacred. They are proof of a life that mattered. Austin's life mattered. He still does.
Happy 12th Birthday, sweet boy.
You were—and will always be—the greatest gift we ever received.
With love you forever, AJ. - Mom and Dad.
It is only with gratitude that life becomes rich.
John 13:7 Jesus replied, “You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.”
Austin 1st Foundation is a 501 (c)(3) Public Charity - See the impact we make and support our mission to be Champions for Rare Disease by raising awareness and research dollars for families in Alabama & beyond.
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