One year after the funeral: Comments on Light, Comfort, and Community

“The ceiling is sagging mom,” Ellie said to me when she came up from the basement and saw all the people.

Our small group came, just hours after landing from their trip to Israel. Our church friends came. Family was here. Kelly and Finley made the drive from Roscoe. Teachers and bus drivers came. 

Linda, his buddy from our special needs program at church, told me what a gift my son was. He changed her life without words. His silent presence, a most precious gift. 

Tom, his bus driver, told me he still had a items in his home to remind him of Jayden. 

All these seemingly disconnected people-connected by love for one little boy. We swapped stories, snot and tears. We laughed. We watched the video from his funeral. Justin cried as he read 2 Corinthians 4, giving permission for others to cry with us. Then, in the bitter cold, (as we prayed all the unsupervised kids destroying the basement had on coats and shoes) we lit up our fence, light by light: Continue reading “One year after the funeral: Comments on Light, Comfort, and Community”

What do we do on Monday after the funeral?

I am so tired.
I feel how Jayden looks-smashed and buried.

This weekend, I think I experienced every emotion God made.

First grade doesn’t stop for my youngest just because her sister died. I thought I missed her open house, but it’s tonight. I thought I missed the bus time, but I remembered they post it online. I thought school started today, but it’s tomorrow.

I’m all screwed up, but God knows.

What do we do on these days?
The days after the funeral?
The days when everyone else seems to move forward and we are left picking up the pieces of our shattered life?

What do we do when the cards and casseroles stop?
When people stop saying her name? His name?
How do we answer, “How many kids do you have?”
Continue reading “What do we do on Monday after the funeral?”