Author: Judson's Legacy

Today, Jessie and I said our good-byes to Drake as he headed to Boston for a conference.  It is a national conference he attends each year related to his profession.

Last year, this conference took place in Southern CA during the 2^nd week of June.  My concerns for Jud started skyrocketing so significantly while Drake was gone.  I remember exactly where Jud, Jessie, and I were in our home as I sat with my phone in hand, debating whether or not to call Drake and ask him to come home.  I knew we were dealing with something much more severe than just sniffles, but I didn’t want to blow things out of proportion.  I finally decided to make the call.  Drake hopped in his car and left the conference immediately to tend to the needs of our family.  It was the next day that our whirlwind began-June 13^th.

So as I drove away from Drake today, I had extreme sadness; it was partly because of the difficult associations from last year, but it was more than that too.

This is the first time Drake and I have had any significant distance between us since Jud died.  It struck me how much more connected we have become through Jud’s suffering, death, and our subsequent sorrow.  Drake is the only other person walking the face of this earth who truly understands my experience and grief because it is his experience and grief too.  There are others severely affected by the circumstances, but none of them parented Jud-it was just the two of us.  Drake’s sorrow is my sorrow, and my sorrow is his; we “get” each other in a way no one else can.

In reading about the impact of the loss of a child on a marriage, more often than not, the strain is heavier than most unions can withstand.  But in rare cases, this type of grief can actually develop a greater bond between husband and wife…I humbly feel as though God has protected and even deepened our marriage relationship through this process.

Drake and I are bound together, not only by our vows, but by our tragedy.

I cannot imagine walking through this experience without him, and though he is only gone for five days, the gap of his absence is larger than ever before!

I miss you Drake!

Jessie is at the age where kids develop attachments.  Common attachments seem to be blankets or stuffed animals.

Our little lady has definitely developed an attachment…to man’s best friend…

It just happens to be a plastic pup!

Jessie ‘s beloved female doggy (she has informed us that her pet is a “geerl”) has been known to follow her everywhere: visiting the park, walking Balboa Island, Disneyland, the mall, restaurants, and even joining Jessie in bed (this can’t be very comfortable ).  And though Jessie calls her pooch “doggy” if you ask her the manufactured canine’s name, she will reply, “Puppy,” believing she has chosen quite an original moniker.

Maybe someday this plastic pup will become a real, furry, snuggly, little dog.  We’ll see…

 

We’ve all heard the old adage, “That’s about as fun as watching cement dry.”  Strangely, I am riveted by a slab of cement currently drying just beyond our front door.

The bench that we donated in Judson’s memory was installed at our park this afternoon.  They did some preparatory work yesterday, but actually poured the concrete today.

I did not foresee the slew of emotions I would feel upon seeing Jud’s name in bronze being memorialized at the park where he used to run, jump, swing, slide, and play.  Sorrow and excitement pulsed through my body.  The whole experience was surreal.

As the foundation solidifies this evening, I ponder how I might feel each time I sit on this special seat.  I never could have imagined that a grated, metal, wire bench could be so meaningful to me.

Next week they plan to plant Jud’s sycamore tree…

Today, I popped an old CD into my car stereo only to discover that the first song was “I’ll Fly Away”* sung by Jars of Clay.  I hit repeat and played it over and over while driving to Fairhaven Memorial Park.  Upon my arrival, I parked the car as near to Judson’s gravesite as possible, rolled down the windows, and cranked up the volume.  I proceeded to sit by his burial plot with this song playing in the background.

As I listened to the words of this old hymn written in 1929, I realized how divided my heart feels.

On the one hand, I am desperate to be with my Savior and my son.  Every cell in my body longs to be set free “like a bird from these prison walls” of pain and sorrow, and find myself on “God’s celestial shore.”  In fact, when I “talk” to Jud, I remind him that it will be “just a few more weary days” until we are reunited in the presence of our Lord.  I long to be Jud’s mommy again, in heaven.

However, on the other hand, I have a beautiful little girl who I want to pour myself into and love with every ounce of my being.  I hope to experience the joys and pains of life with her.  I want to watch her develop, and delight in who she becomes.  I treasure being Jessie’s mom here on earth.

I am completely torn between two worlds.

Yet, I know I will have the best of both worlds when all who know Jesus “fly away…to a land where joy will never end.”

* We ended Judson’s memorial service with this song.

Most of us live in an assumptive reality*-we assume that our hopes and plans for tomorrow and everyday thereafter will occur as anticipated.

We make a lunch date with someone and have every reason to expect they will be there at the scheduled time and place.  We get in our car and expect to make it to work each day.  We pay our utility bills and expect that our electricity, gas, and water will function properly.

Our assumptive reality gives us the misperception that we are in control of our lives because so much of what we anticipate comes to fruition on a daily basis.

However, periodically something might occur that throws a wrench in our assumptive reality.  Our friend gets sick and we end up eating lunch alone.  Our car breaks down and we don’t make it to work on time.  Our electricity goes out and we are unable to watch our favorite program on TV.

But what happens when our assumptive reality is obliterated?  What happens when everything we hoped and planned for tomorrow and the rest of our life has been shattered?

I assumed that my son would grow old and I would have the privilege of watching his personality, interests, and character continue to develop.  I imagined who he would become, the activities he might enjoy, what he might look like as a teenager, what pains he might experience in life, and who he might love.  But I woke up one morning and he was gone.

My assumptive reality was destroyed.

Before Judson’s death I never would have professed to be in control, but there was a fine thread that still kept me living as if I had significant power over my life.  That thread was severed, exposing the illusion of control.

In turn, I have been moving from illusion to submission.

I humbly bow my knee to the One who controls the clouds and makes the thunders flash.  Blessed be the Almighty! (Job 37:15)

* Thanks to Randy Hill, our grief counselor, for sharing this terminology and other concepts with us that help describe our feelings.

A friend of mine emailed me the other day after she had an epiphany about grief.  Her thoughts touched me significantly…

”Instead of patiently watching and waiting for you to work through your grief, I realized I’m watching you not get over your grief, but learn to carry your grief.” -MT

Her insight into this process meant the world to me.

I feel a regular pressure, from people who don’t understand the nature of severe loss, to be moving toward “freedom” from my grief.  It is as though they anticipate a season when my grief will no longer exist.

I will always carry this burden of loss; I will not wake up one day and discover that my grief is gone, but rather, I will grow in my ability to carry it.

As I write this, a gentleman with an amputated leg just walked by me…

I decided to ask him about his leg and his experience living without a limb.  Christopher was happy to discuss his loss with me.

If I return to my analogy of the loss of Jud being an emotional pain like that of a physical amputation (not denying the emotional pain of an amputee too), I see similarities as I watch Christopher walk with his prosthetic and describe his challenges.

Christopher lost his leg when he was 4 years old (he looks like he is now in his 40’s) and has learned to function without it, but his body is missing a leg nonetheless.  He said there are times he still experiences sorrow, frustration, anger, and pain over his loss, even though it was over 40 years ago, but he has become more adept at living without his limb-his amputation has been incorporated into his life so that his burden has become easier to bear.

“I will never get my leg back.  I have just learned to live without it,” Christopher declared.

In much the same way, I am on a journey of figuring out how to live without my boy.  There will always be moments of sorrow, frustration, anger and pain over losing Judson, but my grief is slowly being incorporated into my life so that the burden of living without Jud will become easier to bear.

I am learning to carry my grief.

 

It was a gorgeous day today.  The weather was sunny with bright, blue, cloudless skies, and the temperature was perfect.  Seeing as Drake had the day off (he took an extra day of vacation after Memorial Day), we decided to go to Disneyland-this was the first time the three of us visited together since Judson’s Make-a-Wish trip.

I had envisioned when we were with Judson at Disneyland last August, as he struggled on the trip far more than we expected, that our next visit to the “Happiest Place on Earth” as a family would include our little man who would be running and seeing all the wonders of this magical place with the full excitement of a 3 year old boy.  However, God did not heal Jud here on earth.

But, I realized today that He is starting to heal our hearts.

As we made our way around the amusement park, partaking in the attractions that were suitable for our little Jessie girl, we thought and talked about Jud quite a bit and definitely felt the sting of his absence, but we also had a sweet time together.

There have been many months when the pain of losing Jud has been so heavy that it would have been impossible to find any joy at a place like Disneyland.

Today we found joy.

In this photo I am holding out Jud’s picture on my necklace…
It is the best way I know how to say,
“Wishing you were here Judson!  We are incomplete without you!”