Monday was a sacred day. It wasn’t a holiday. It wasn’t a birthday. It wasn’t a day of festivity. In fact, for most people it probably wasn’t a day of much consequence at all. But for us, for our family, for those who knew and cared for our dear son, November 7th is sacred.
Drake didn’t go to work. Jessie didn’t go to school. Family and loved ones gathered.
Monday was a day to remember.
With reverence, each year we take the time to reflect on the dark but hallowed last days, hours, and minutes of Judson’s life. Naturally we are reminded of the sacrosanct moment when the cloak of death enwrapped the precious body of our boy, while our hearts were forever torn in two. The pain of those moments persists.
But where death sought to destroy Judson, and us, life prevails.
We remember how on an ordinary day, in a non-descript room on Wilson St., heaven and earth collided. We were witnesses as eternity came near, near enough to expose the frailty and fragility of life, along with our powerlessness as mortal beings…but also near enough to illuminate the glory of a faithful little life…restored and whole. We remember our beloved Judson and we remember with hope.
Furthermore, as we remember, we are reminded of all that has transpired since Judson’s death; it devastated but did not desolate us. Our faith, trust, and even joy have been graciously preserved. We live with new understanding, new motivation, and new purpose.
It is important to remember.
Because although it is painful to recall those dim hours in our life, the sacredness of November 7th softens the veil between now and eternity; it brings perspective to all of life—the past, the present, and the future.
We miss you so much, Judson!