I’m missing my boy so much today.

I spent many days in his room weeping, praying, sitting in the ache of his absence. But as time has passed, my busy days have softened the sharpest edges of grief, and I haven’t been back in his room in awhile.

Today I was drawn there.

As I sat in the stillness, I realized—I don’t hate grief anymore.

She doesn’t crush me the way she used to. I welcome her knock on my door now, and when she arrives, I’m not afraid to invite her in.

So I sat with her, wondering again why things had to be this way.

I picked up a stack of notes from Julian’s friends and reread them. Some were addressed to him, filled with memories of their time together. Others were written to us, reminding us what an amazing kid we had and letting us know we were being prayed for.

His friends didn’t have to do that. They could have tucked their own grief away, keeping it private.

But instead, they chose to share it with us.

Those notes turned my tears to smiles. They all had one common theme, Julian made them laugh, his presence filled the halls and rooms of his school in the very best way, that he was kind to all and made others feel seen. I knew he was a special kid, but it was comforting to know others knew it too.

 There are some things I’ll never understand. So many why’s I’ll never have answered this side of heaven. Why couldn’t he see past the problems of that day? Why did God not stop him? Why did one impulsive act leave us a lifetime of picking up broken pieces – trying to make something out of them that makes life worth living? Why must all of our future joy have a shadow lingering over it?

 But I do know this, Julian’s kindness and joy made a difference in this world; that people are changed for the better because Julian lived, and that redemption will come out of his death. I know that his friends are the kind of people that will take this hard, awful story and change the world for the better, not in spite of it, but because of it.

I know that all of our days on earth are numbered, but that earthly death is really just the beginning of true life.

I know that God always saves the best wine for last.

I know that I can and will suffer well because I have the best Teacher and Guide, and He has walked this path before me.

I know that “He who counts the stars and calls them by their names is in no danger of forgetting His own children.” And He will carry me through.

I walked out of his room thankful. Thankful for the time we were blessed to have Julian with us. Thankful for the friends who cared for him and continue to care for us now. And thankful for the strength to finish this race well, for the promise that "He who began a good work in me will be faithful to complete it."

One day, He will restore all that was broken. And grief—faithful friend though she has become—will finally be left behind along with Julian's empty room.

xo