Two dear, dear friends lost their little boy this weekend.

Before I had Judah, I knew, mentally, that losing a child was an awful, terrible thing. Suddenly, though, the thought of it is overwhelming. I say "little boy" even though he was 27 - a man really, not a boy. But to lose the one whose little fingers grasped your thumb when he came home from the hospital. Whom you rocked and nursed in the quiet, dark hours of the morning. Whose giggles, smiles, and laughs made your day. Who learned to walk holding onto your finger. Whom you watched eat ice cream and corn on the cob for the first time. Who fell asleep snuggled on your shoulder:

This one will always be your little boy.

My heart breaks.
Come, Lord Jesus.


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