Faith & Hope in Suffering
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Dear Jud… It’s hard to believe you’d be turning eighteen today. I’m finding this especially jarring and hard to swallow. Maybe it’s for the same reason any parent might experience…it means letting go of your childhood. But your childhood already became intangible to me—after 3 years you were frozen as a preschooler. I’ve been left
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I feel a little lost today. Lost in my grief. It’s raining. Raining so hard that I think we won’t be able to decorate your grave for the first time in 14 years. This makes me sad. And it leaves me a little lost. It’s the simple way we’ve come to celebrate you on your birthday…
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If you could return to any year of your life and relive it, what year would you choose?
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…something profound happened in that moment. It was as though our Jud Bud became starkly aware of his own increasing deficits while simultaneously celebrating with us the victories of his little sister’s movement…
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Enveloped in the dust,
A tiny little seed,
Sown in love…
Dear Jud Bud… I find myself longing for a new photograph of the two of us together. Longing. And longing. And longing. But there are none. Nor will there be. I repeatedly gaze at the same handful of pictures of you and me…I’ve been staring at these same ones for twelve years now. It’s heartbreakingly
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“Would be” has become the consummate phrase encapsulating all the missed milestones with my child.
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My dear birthday boy…
I’m blowing my mind that you’d be a teenager today, Juddy. How is it even possible that my little boy who loved singing nursery rhymes, playing with his train set, and driving his Matchbox cars all over the carpet would be turning thirteen today?
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