I am not one to remember important dates.
Good or bad.
I try to remember the good, I try to forget the bad.
I have made a promise to myself that I will not dread this day next year, or the year after that, or the year after that.
...but I have to write about it this year.
It's been a year. A complete year.
Since that morning. Jon crawled back into bed next to me and whispered in my ear,
" Your Aunt Del...she died."
and I made him repeat it, five times. Over and over.
And it set in slow.
And it hurt long.
I sobbed into the microphone
John 11:25 at her funeral:
Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though they die, yet shall they live.
and now when I mourn her loss on earth, truthfully deep down I am happy. Happy that I know she is in the presence of God Himself. Happy that I do not cling to this verse as a means to take the pain out of death, but I declare it TRUE. Happy that I WILL see her again one day. Happy that she changed me as a person. Happy that I knew her. Happy that she was my Aunt.
And I want to repeat this over and over:
though they die
yet they shall live
over and over