Tag: loss of a loved one

Twelve Years

Dear Jud Bud…

I find myself longing for a new photograph of the two of us together. Longing. And longing. And longing. But there are none. Nor will there be. I repeatedly gaze at the same handful of pictures of you and me…I’ve been staring at these same ones for twelve years now. It’s heartbreakingly impossible to create new memories with you, while the memories of the life we shared together are increasingly more distant.

We are moving tomorrow. We’ll have a new home and we’ll be one more home removed from the life we shared with you. It’s another big shift in our life…without you. Our world keeps markedly changing and you’re not part of it. As much as I carry you constantly in my heart, and as much as you are indelibly written on my mind, my memories with you are farther and farther away.

Yet, there are certain memories that overcome me like a flood, fully engulfing me, as if I was right back in the moment again.

The day we lost you is one such memory, Juddy. That sacred day, now twelve years ago, when you were torn from my arms by death, can wash over me like a tsunami with all the emotions as raw as the day itself. I remember your last smile for me; it brings me to my knees with it’s poignancy. Your suffering tears my heart into pieces anew. Your lifeless body leaves me longing for your warmth, the rhythmn of your breath, and the beat of your heart. The moment they carried your small frame away from me leaves me desperate for one last kiss, one last stroke of your hair, and one last chance to gaze upon your beauty. This has been my longing now for twelve years.

But there is another day that is indelibly etched in my heart. Yet it’s not a memory…it’s a yet-to-be realized but imminent picture of our reunion. I see you on a dirt path racing around the bend of a mountain, running as fast as you can toward me. You have an enormous grin on your beautifully sweet, innocent face as giggles of immeasurable joy uncontrollably spill out of you. You leap into my embrace because you’ve been longing for it as much as I have. And I shower you with the billions of kisses I’ve been saving for you.

The best part is that our Savior is lovingly looking on with great delight over our reunion. This is death conquered. This is victory. This is what He gave His life for…that we might live with Him in all the fullness of heaven… fully engaging real life with the ones we love—who love Him too.

And so it is that I am flooded by the memory of the day we lost you as if it were today, but I am also overcome by the picture of our reunion for when it will be tomorrow. I’m enveloped in all the seemingly contradictory emotions at once—immersed in joy and sorrow. These paradoxical emotions continue to learn to live ever more comfortably with each other in my soul.

All that to say, I’m always saving up kisses for you, my little man, and I’m warning you that I may have enough kisses to cover you for all of eternity.

You have my heart in every way,
Mommy

Tags death of a child, grief, loss of a child, loss of a loved one

Heartache and Hope

Would Be

Judson would be starting high school this week.

“Would be” has become the consummate phrase encapsulating all the missed milestones with my boy. Sometimes those milestones settle in my soul without too much emotion. Other times the would be’s hit like a ton of bricks.

Today was the bricks.

As Jessie became a teenager this week and started 8^th grade, I’ve been acutely aware of how quickly the moments that turn into days have become years. Relishing the milestones in my Jessie-Girl’s life—feeling all the joy of watching her grow, change, struggle, and become—always highlights the significance of the missed milestones with my Jud Bud.

Starting High School. A missed milestone.

I know a lot of kids starting high school this year, including the boy who lives next door. I watch. I note. I observe from afar. And I wonder.

Actually, that’s what I’ve been doing for almost 12 years. Wondering. …Watching. Noting. Observing. ..following the lives of the kids who would be the same age as my boy. And wondering.

I wonder what he’d look like. I wonder what he’d care about. I wonder what his gifts would be. I wonder where his interests would lie. I wonder who his friends would be. I wonder what would make him laugh…and cry. I wonder. And I wonder. And I wonder about the would be’s.

Wondering is a strange thing after the loss of a child; it is birthed out of a real, tangible, and beautifully significant life, and yet it leaves you in an imaginary world of hypotheticals—a world of would be’s. It’s painful.

On this side of heaven, missed milestones are weighty. There is still so much to grieve. But I can’t simply keep my eyes on this side of heaven. Because on the other side of heaven it’s promised that the would be’s are insignificant in light of God’s eternal glory.

Tags loss of a child, loss of a loved one

Heartache and Hope

United with Him

Easter Eggs Jud

Jesus Christ rose from the dead.

This is the foundation of the Christian faith. Without the resurrection of Jesus, our faith is impotent and futile. But because Jesus is alive, having conquered death, we are invited into life-giving relationship with him…now…and in anticipation of the day we will be united with him in glory.

What’s more, Scripture is clear that those who trust in Jesus are united with Him in both his death and resurrection (Romans 6:5). Therefore, those who have physically died, in Christ, are presently just as alive as Christ. (In truth, they’re more alive than you and me!)

However, it seems foreign, even in the Christian community, for people to engage loved ones who have died in a manner similar to the way they engage Jesus, who is very much alive. Why is this atypical? (I’m not referring to the ethereal, ghost-like, guardian angel-type idea, but rather the concept that our loved one is alive in a distant land [at home with the Lord — 2 Corinthians 5:8], and our expressions toward and about them should reflect that reality.)

Jessie is growing up with the understanding that she has a brother who loves her very much—a brother who lived here on earth, died, but now resides in heaven; she lives with anticipation of their reunion. But what has become especially clear is how Jessie’s view of Judson has richly informed her understanding of Jesus, who loves her very much—he lived here on earth, died, but rose and resides in heaven; she lives with anticipation of seeing Jesus face-to-face too. As we continue to engage Jud as a living, active person in our family who resides in God’s Kingdom, it seems to bring a profound depth to Jessie’s understanding of Jesus as a living, active person who is ever-present but rules and resides in God’s Kingdom.

Interestingly, the ways we continue to involve Judson as a member of our family are, at best, uncommon, and at worst perceived as abnormal, peculiar, or possibly even unhealthy. When someone we care about is miles and miles away, do we not engage them with thoughts, conversations, letters, memories, and more out of our love and anticipation of being reunited? Why would it not be the same with our loved ones who have passed? Do we not truly believe they’re alive? Just as Jesus invites us into a relationship that is vibrant and alive (not abstract or detached), so also can our relationship with deceased loved ones be valued, concrete and complex.

We might all grow in faith if we allowed ourselves the freedom to continue to engage our loved ones, who are united with Jesus in both his death and resurrection, similarly to the way we engage Jesus Himself; it may, in fact, help us develop a more robust understanding of the hope of the Gospel.

I praise God every day for the gift of being united with Christ, not only in his death but in his resurrection, and that my Juddy is experiencing the full realization of that union now.

Indeed, Judson is alive…because Jesus is alive! He is risen indeed!

Happy Easter!

Tags easter, grief, loss of a loved one, resurrection of Jesus

Heartache and Hope

Floating Silhouette

What is it about butterflies that capture my heart unlike any other creature? Is it the intricate beauty? Is it the idea that they have emerged from dark cocoon to new life? Is it that they dance through the air with such grace? Is it their peaceful silence as they fly?

I expect it is all of these things and more.

Every butterfly now reminds me of Jud. For many who have lost a loved one, the butterfly seems to carry a special symbolism tying them to their beloved. I have written many times about butterflies, but in the last couple days I have had two special encounters.

We attended a butterfly release this weekend in honor of families who have lost children. However, unlike the people around us, when we slowly opened our box to free our butterfly, it actually sat on my hand for quite some time before it took flight. It was an amazing experience to have an extended opportunity to hold this beautiful memorial for Judson before seeing it disappear. And as it flew away, Jessie said over and over, “Fly to Jud! Fly to Jud, little butterfly! Fly to Jud!” and I imagined Judson might have been in heaven holding a butterfly similar to the one we’d just released.

Yesterday morning we took a trip to our local butterfly house and had a similar experience. There was a monarch butterfly that climbed on my finger and then stayed with me the entire time we were there. Strangely, it was almost as though it wanted to be near me. This exhilarating encounter with the “painted lady” actually inspired the following poem from me.

Vibrant colors gleam with light
Dancing upon the sky
Silently fluttering into sight
Capturing my eye

Mesmerized by beauty true
In silence and in awe
I watch with only thoughts of you
Vulnerable and raw

The butterfly a sweet reflection
Of marvelous rebirth
Like the little boy with my affection
No longer bound by earth

My heart sees you in everything
But nothing greater yet
Than the creature with the painted wing
Like a floating silhouette

Tags butterflies, featured, hope, loss of a loved one, poetry