I made my fifth visit to Judson’s graveside, since his burial on November 13th.
The times I visited previously, I expected to be extremely emotional, but was not. I simply sat there on my blanket next to his plot, paralyzed, still in a state of shock.
This visit was different; I was already crying when I arrived. I pulled out my blanket and laid it directly on the grass covering Jud’s burial site, and then fell prone on the ground, sobbing. I sobbed uncontrollably, unaware of my surroundings, except for the cold, hard ground under my head, arms, torso, and legs. I couldn’t believe that the body I carried in my womb for 9 months, the hands and feet that I kissed, and the beautiful face that graced my life for 2 years, 10 months, 14 days was lying several feet underneath me in the darkness of the earth.
I bawled, recognizing I was at the location where I feel closest to Jud now, and yet, he is still so clearly absent from me.
As the realities of his death were sinking deep into my grieving soul, I raised my head for a moment, and there before me was a brilliant stream of light breaking through the trees, from the setting sun. I was entranced by it, as if it was inviting me-inviting me to bask in its glory. It was incredibly beautiful!
It prompted my heart to imagine the brilliance of the return of Jesus, whereupon Jud’s body will be restored to life. Jesus claimed to be the Resurrection and the Life, and said that those who believe in Him will live, even if they die. I believe. This is hope.
So as I gazed at the rays of the sun illuminating the memorial park, while my tears continued to flow, I pondered what this grief would be without hope, and then felt my grief in light of hope.
I am thankful for Hope.