We tend to think of bereavement as being a state of sorrow over the death of a loved one.  But this term is derived from an archaic word indicative of someone being ruthlessly deprived of something by having it forcibly ripped away. When something is ripped, it is split apart in a harsh, rough manner.

Dear family and friends, We feel deeply the significance of today, exactly 6 months since Judson’s death. We have been living half a year with only shadows of the boy that graced and blessed our lives for almost three. Strangely, there are times it feels as though it was just yesterday that Jud was racing

Drake and I have never owned property.  But now we do. We received in the mail today a stark white, 11×14 envelope from Fairhaven Memorial Park.  As I carefully pulled back the adhesive that sealed its contents, I wondered what was veiled in this paper pocket.  I slowly peaked inside and found therein an official

I am struggling with offering faith-filled petitions to my Father. When Judson first died, I remember thinking that though our request for Jud’s healing on earth was denied, I would not have difficulty praying in faith for other various circumstances.  Unfortunately, this has proven far more challenging than I expected. It is not that my

  Dear Jud, I miss hearing you sing.  I miss having you belt out songs and seeing you move as you sang.  You must have known a hundred of them-and what you weren’t taught, you just made up yourself.  I still remember hearing you sing, “Alligator!” and wondering when you came up with it. Of

My friend Laura asked me a few days ago, “What is your scale for determining how you are doing now?” What a great question! I perceived that she was seeking to gain more insight into my world of sorrow, but I also appreciated that inherent in her question was an understanding that EVERYTHING in my

I was driving in the car today, with my little ladybug in the back seat, when out of the blue I heard, “Tank you, Judson.” Gripped that I might have just caught a snippet of Jessie conversing with her brother, I remained quiet hoping to hear more of the one-sided dialogue. “Tank you, Jud.” A

Thoughtfulness, creativity, sensitivity, and kindness came in the mail for me today. Four friends*, once strangers before Judson was plagued with Krabbe disease, sent some Mother’s Day love my direction.  Having not even been cognizant of the fact that we are rapidly approaching this holiday, my moment of awareness came in the form of sweetness.