As a parent of a child who has died, I am desperate for Jud not be forgotten…I think this is the greatest fear of every grieving parent. It is not a fear that I will forget him (impossible!), it is as if the relevance and significance of his life diminishes if the “world” forgets him.

Yesterday, as Drake and I were walking along the Balboa pier, I found myself mesmerized by a flock of California brown pelicans.  It was not simply that there was such a large mass of these endangered birds, probably close to 2 dozen (which was fascinating in and of itself), but it was the incredible feeding

Steven Curtis Chapman, a Christian musician, and his wife Mary Beth, tragically and unexpectedly lost their 5 year old daughter last week.  When my friend Keri informed me of their loss, I went numb.  I did not have words or tears, just a sinking pit in my stomach that took me deep into my own

  Thursdays are my days to attend Judson’s gravesite.**   This afternoon, as I left the sunshine near our home and drove toward the memorial park, I found myself in an unexpected downpour of rain.  It appeared to come from nowhere, drenching my car and the other vehicles traveling the 55 freeway.  The rainy weather

I continue to be absolutely desperate to hold my son.  Every cell in my body longs for Jud.  I close my eyes and hold out my arms, trying to imagine what it would feel like to snuggle his precious frame again, but all I feel is air…just air. My arms are empty and my soul

There are days I feel completely saturated in darkness, as though I cannot see even a glimpse of light.  Everything is bleak.  If there is goodness around me, even directly in front of me, it cannot be seen-I’ve been swallowed up in a caliginous cavern.  Hope feels distant, intangible, obscured by a blackness so thick

I used to live as though a massive, thick, rarely penetrable, concrete wall was dividing this life from the next, and my daily thoughts gave little consideration to what was on the other side.  I see now that it is a thin, delicate, almost transparent veil separating us from eternity, which can be unexpectedly torn

My first experience of having someone innocently ask the whereabouts of my son occurred this week-almost everyone who knows us, and knew of Jud, was also aware of his suffering and death.  However, many of our neighbors were unfortunately oblivious. Back in July of 2006, Drake, Jud, and I (while pregnant with Jessie) met some