During the time of his illness, Judson met a cat named Oliver who also had a broken body. Ollie was an older cat who had been well-loved throughout his life, but with age, had lost the use of his hind legs. He died not too long before Judson died.
The other day I had the chance to interact again with the couple who owned and loved Oliver. I shared with them that Judson’s story is being published and mentioned how the book includes an entry I wrote about Judson’s interaction with Ollie, along with a picture of Jud Bud and their cat. After noting their excitement, I thought I would give them a sneak peak of that page in the book, seeing as I had just received an electronic copy of the final layout of the manuscript a couple days previously.
Upon seeing the black and white photograph of Jud and Oliver, they described how it brought back all their memories of Judson during that season. They both began to cry. Their emotion was clearly uncontainable. Yet just as quickly as their tears started to flow, so also did the apologies for “blubbering” in front of us. They were bashful about emoting around Drake and me, and unsuccessfully tried abating their tears in what appeared to be an effort to protect us. They just kept saying how sorry they were that they were not being “stronger” in our company.
We have discovered how people are commonly apologetic about their tears over Judson when they are with us. I perceive they fear it will heighten our pain or bring to the surface our difficult emotions that are not currently manifesting at the moment.
The truth is, there is very little that touches us more than when someone is so deeply affected by our little man that they are moved to tears. We see it as a sacrifice for others to engage our loss enough that Jud’s little life impacts them to the degree that their feelings are visible.
Every tear that has been shed on behalf of our boy, in our presence or not, is a gift to our broken hearts.
Christina,
I don’t know if I’ve ever actually told you in words. I cry for Judson every week. I am crying right now as I write this.
Something horrible happened to my daughter. But she is alive and well. I am thankful for that EVERY MOMENT OF EVERY DAY. No matter how bleak things seem, she is alive and healthy and I can reach out and touch her.
Reading about your experience and pain have made me even MORE thankful that she is still with me.
Then, instantly, I feel guilty for having a healthy child. I feel guilty that my friend’s loss somehow deepens my appreciation for my daughter. Would I rather have a less sharpened perspective and a friend whose boy is still alive? Yes. I would gladly trade my enhanced point of view to get Jud back. I knew that little boy! This world is just not right without him!
I wish we lived in a world where no pain or suffering could touch any child. Ever.
As parents we do everything in our power to protect our little ones. Sometimes it is just not in our power.
I cry for my daughter. I cry for your son. I cry for you.
My tears easily flow every time I think of Judson. His presence is in my life many times a day, as well as yours. I usually remember his smile, his games and his sweet little voice that I could see in all his videos. I also feel guilty, as your friend Jen have said, because I have an almost two year old healthy child. But something makes me feel even more guilty, the fact that my son was born 16 days before Jud’s death. It’s inevitable for me to go back in time and think about our happinness at home with our first son, when you were suffering the illness and lost of your "little blessing".
My heart is with you Christina.