Some conversations change the way you see the world. This is one of them.
In the latest episode of Louk on Life, I sat down with two of my dearest friends, Linsy and Timo, who shared their story publicly for the first time. It’s a story of love, loss, and the extraordinary courage it takes to keep moving forward when life shatters your expectations.
In 2022, Linsy and Timo were expecting their first child. The pregnancy was radiant. Linsy describes it as one of the most beautiful periods of her life. She felt grounded, connected to her body, and filled with wonder at the new life growing inside her. Timo remembers celebrating in the hospital elevator when they discovered labor had begun. They were ready. They were joyful. They had no idea what was coming.
The moment everything changed
During delivery, something went wrong. Linsy was in a birthing tub at home when the midwife couldn’t find their baby’s heartbeat. There were concerned glances. Reassurances that the equipment might be faulty. Timo lifted Linsy from the water, hoping it would help. But the heartbeat never returned.
Their son, Djeko, was born. And in the same breath, he was gone.
The room filled with paramedics, police officers, a trauma helicopter. Fourteen medical professionals rushed in to try to save him. Timo held Linsy, whispering over and over, “He’s going to live. He’s going to make a sound.” But he didn’t.
Linsy describes a surreal disconnect: she was physically present, but emotionally, she had left her body. “My soul left my body immediately,” she says. For six weeks afterward, she lived in complete shock, unable to fully feel or be touched by the enormity of what had happened.
Carried, Born, Beloved
Those three words – carried, born, beloved – appear on Djeko’s memorial card, on his resting place, and in the hearts of everyone who knows his story. They encapsulate the entire cycle of life, love, and loss in a single breath.
In the days and weeks that followed, Linsy and Timo were held by their community. Friends arranged flowers. Family provided a woven basket for Djeko’s burial. Timo’s mother made a personalized blanket with Djeko’s name. A farewell photographer captured precious moments they return to again and again.
But grief is not linear. Linsy and Timo experienced it differently. Timo felt anger first, then chose love. Linsy moved through softer emotions, eventually finding her own rage much later. They had to learn to honor each other’s process, to give space, and to communicate what they each needed.
Symbols that keep him close
During a trip to Switzerland in their family camper, an escape from the well-meaning but overwhelming support at home, Linsy and Timo stumbled upon a vineyard. The owner offered to personalize wine bottles, mentioning she often did so for births. Linsy and Timo exchanged a glance: We really don’t want to hear this right now.
But when they shared their story, the woman was moved. She created bottles of “Djeko wine” for them. Over the years, they’ve opened bottles to toast Djeko on special occasions and shared them with friends who wanted to honor his memory.
There are other symbols, too. The pear tree in their garden now produces “Djeko pears” every year. A black-and-orange butterfly appears at meaningful moments, a gentle reminder: I see you. I’m here. And Djeko’s name is on the nameplate by their front door, on every family card they send, woven into the fabric of their daily lives.
Joy and grief, side by side
In the years since Djeko’s death, Linsy and Timo welcomed another son, Tjavi. His arrival brought immense joy, but also a painful clarity. Every first moment with Tjavi was a reminder of what they’d missed with Djeko. The first sounds, the first feeding, the first everything. It should have been the second time, not the first.
“Joy and grief go together in a very particular way,” Linsy says. “It was constantly both.”
They wonder what Djeko would have looked like. How the brothers would have played together. What kind of person he would have become. Those questions will never go away. But neither will the love.
The courage to stay vulnerable
What strikes me most about Linsy and Timo’s story is their refusal to hide. They could have tucked Djeko’s memory away, protecting themselves from the pain of remembering. Instead, they chose to keep him present. They talk about him with Tjavi. They honor him on his birthday and on Worldwide Candle Lighting. They share his story, even when it’s hard.
“I’m proud of the courage to keep going, to keep being vulnerable, and to keep sharing the story,” Linsy says. “It’s not easy. But I’m proud of how I show up.”
Timo echoes this: “I’m proud of how we’ve integrated Djeko into our family. We don’t push him away because it hurts. The pain will always be there. But you can live with it, or you can hide it. We choose to live with it.”
A story that stays with you
This episode is not an easy listen. But it’s an important one. It’s a reminder that love doesn’t end when life does. That grief and joy can coexist. That vulnerability is a form of strength. And that some stories, no matter how painful, deserve to be told.
Linsy and Timo’s courage in sharing Djeko’s story is a gift. To anyone who has experienced loss. To anyone navigating the impossible. To anyone who needs to know: you are not alone.
Djeko will always be part of their lives. And now, through this conversation, he’s part of ours, too.
Listen to the full episode (in Dutch) on Spotify or Apple Podcasts. If this story resonates with you, please share it with someone who needs to hear it.