My wife Christi is a runner. She runs most days and presently is getting up to 10 miles on a single run. A couple of months back while doing some strength training she injured her leg. Nothing too serious, but most folks including myself would have taken a break. Not Christi, she kept running, albeit reducing her miles, slowing her pace and stretching much more. Her tenacity shone forth, pushing through the discomfort and sometimes pain to complete her daily run.
Eventually it fully healed and she is now ramping up to the pre-injury pace and workload. But there is one injury that will never heal, for her or me, the passing of our 3-year-old boy, Judah Levi Brown. We are coming up to 2 years since he died (Sept 26th) and each day, each moment without him remains brutally hard.
We carry an endless injury with us. Though we get on with life, truthfully we are hampered, some moments worse than others. When I see a video of him or hear a recording of his voice or when I notice
his small grey converse high tops, my mind fills with memories, the loss swamps my heart and I am again overwhelmed with sadness. In these moments domestic life pauses. I never ignore it, allowing my intense love for Judah to find expression in my grief, my guttural, painful tears.
Eventually, I compose myself, wipe my face clean and trudge back to the many tasks of life. Forever grateful Juju is waiting in Heaven but