Strength, Comfort, Hope & Peace

Today is a somber Sunday for my extended family; 
a season of sorrow enshrouds us as we say good-bye to little Jack.

This is how I want to remember my young cousin, 
ready to take on the world of Kindergarten, 
with his John Deere lunchbox in his hands 
and a sweet sweet smile on his face.

That's why this isn't a post that's coming very easily to me.

In fact, I wasn't going to write it at all.

But I don't want to miss the opportunity to honor and thank everyone who prayed with us during Jack's short illness and share our gratitude for the compassion and kindness you have shown during this difficult time.

You've lit prayer candles to give us hope.

You've written heartfelt poetry to make us smile.

You've sent us beautiful music to lift us up.

You've hosted a bootcamp to support us financially.

You've unified to draw on strength that we don't have right now.

And you've found inspirational words to help us heal.

You've called, texted and emailed; all of these treasures wrap us in a huge hug and bring us strength, comfort, hope and peace.

We are grateful to everyone who is willing to journey through this grief alongside of us. Because it won't be easy, to wade through this season of sadness. 

In fact, because we love so deeply, it's going to be painful.

Excruciatingly painful.

Heartbreakingly painful.

Some days, it may seem impossible, 

especially for those closest to Jack, 

to keep going now that he's gone.

We might look lost.

Or feel angry.

We might just need you to sit and cry with us.

But our family's faith is strong, just like little Jack was,

and it will get us through what lies ahead, until we meet again.

So today, we ask that you remember Jack's parents, Jason and Renee, his big sister Ella, and his extended family and village of friends in your thoughts and prayers. 

We celebrate the gift of five years that this little angel was here, 

to make us laugh and bring us joy . . .

and we take comfort in knowing that Jack's guardian angel made an appearance in the nurses' station monitor just as he was about to fly to his heavenly home.