I vividly recall holding my dead son in my arms.
Tubes once pointlessly providing sustenance to his lifeless body hung useless, a reminder of the futility of the care.
He was no longer Judah, but a chrysalis of sorts, a former shell of a life now with the Lord.
Dazed and in shock, I struggled to imagine how I would do normal life again.
And truth is, I haven’t and I won’t. I grieve, daily yearning to see, to hear my little man again.
I am a broken, changed man. But not the type of broken beyond repair – a lost cause. More I am patched together, the cracks and damage obvious to see.
Healing accompanied with pain. God bringing not so much restoration but reorganization. I will never be the same Mark and I am ok with that. My faith is stronger, but my sense of the world being safe is gone. My resolve to live a meaningful life has grown, while my tolerance for the pointless and superficial has diminished.
I will never forget my son Judah. His radiant laugh, his excitement about music, his family and his toys will never depart me.
Just as a lock of his hair sits within a cross by my heart each day, so too his memory remains ever so close.
One day daddy will dance with you again son. Until then, my prayer is, God use me well. I am willing, I am ready.