Is God Still Good When Your Child Dies?

As Christians we study the Bible to learn the character of the God we worship. We find that He is sovereign, holy, eternal while simultaneously being tender, loving and good.  Our entire purpose and existence is to glorify this good God and enjoy Him forever not just now in this world but for all eternity. These are the truths of Christianity that we hold dear.  As children we sing, "God is so good. God is so good. God is so good. He's so good to me."

But, is God still good when your child dies?

The last year and a half of my life has been excruciating as I watched my precious baby boy come into and leave this world after just eight months and three days.

So as a Christian I have been forced to my knees in a new way of surrender. To surrender my child to death has caused me to question even the deepest truths of my life and faith including the goodness of God.  It has been near impossible to walk in the depths of despair and say words like the ones of Psalm 106:1.

Say them with me:

"Praise the LORD! Oh give thanks to the LORD, for He is good; For His lovingkindness is everlasting."

Now let’s try saying them as your child breathes his last breath. Or as your spouse walks out the door. Or as the power is shut off. Or as you celebrate Christmas without your loved one. Or as you are huddled in a corner in Aleppo with your terrified family. But, we should say them at these most horrific times because these holy words are true.

I've doubted the goodness of God in my situation and perhaps you have too. When everything in me screams that there is no way God can be good, I must look to His Word and not let my faith be swayed by my emotions or my circumstances. Knowing that God is good doesn't diminish my pain or loss but it gives me firm, eternal ground to stand on. My circumstance is not good. But, He is good.

This I know is true: God's goodness is eternal. He was good when the people of Israel were enslaved. He was good when Jesus was on the cross. He was good during World War II and the Holocaust. He was good when my dad was at war in Vietnam and He is good today as I sit in my home looking at my son's Christmas stocking without him.

We intentionally (though a bit hesitantly) chose our Christmas card this year to remind ourselves that the goodness of God is eternal and not circumstantial. We chose this card because it is still true even in the year our son died.

This Christmas night I’m so thankful that God's goodness is forever. Somehow, in His sovereign will, He will work even the darkest, ugliest, most painful parts of our broken hearts into His good story of redemption alongside the story of the nativity. God doesn't explain Himself fully to us in this life but what we know dimly now, we will know fully when we see Him face to face in all His goodness.

Grieving in the Season of Merriment

December marks the “most wonderful time of the year” and we are reminded of this through song, decorations, sermons, gifts and even smells. As a person walking through deep grief, it feels far from merry most days and certainly not jolly. During a season marked for togetherness, grief can isolate once again even in a room of loved ones.

So how do we get through a season of celebration when our hearts are in tiny broken pieces? How do we take holiday family photos or buy gifts knowing our son is not going to be with us Christmas morning?

There are no simple answers. 

I can tell myself that Christmas is about our savior and the miracle of His birth. I can look forward to time with people I love and cherish. I can take intentional time to “pre-grieve” ahead of Christmas in preparation for moments of celebration.

But, at the end of the day, my heart misses my son terribly even if it is advent. I simply don’t feel merry & bright just because those are the lyrics I hear as I sit in traffic.

Even though I miss our son desperately, I want to be fully present for Christmas for his big brother. Picturing him on Christmas morning, I want the atmosphere of our home to be that of joy and celebration. But, how is that possible when we are missing ¼ of our little family?

I thought I’d share something that has seemed to help me in my grief during this sacred season. I keep thinking about the fact that I will only have a certain number of Christmas days.

My paternal grandfather got 96 Christmas days. My maternal grandmother got 72. My cousin got 37.

My precious son was given ONE Christmas day.

If I think of Christmas in terms of a special gift that you only receive a few times in your whole life versus a day to simply survive, it is somehow a bit easier for me to approach this holy day with less dread and even a bit of anticipation and dare I say...worship.

So, I will hang our Hudson’s stocking as a way to include him on this first Christmas without our boy. In his honor, I will donate to families who are hurting right this minute with children in the cardiac intensive care unit at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. 

If I count my Christmas days, it causes me to pause and makes me want to be fully present to make significant memories with those I love. I only get a few of these. Even with lots of traditions, each and every Christmas day is unique and special.

So my plan is to walk into my 38^th Christmas day, bringing Hudson along in my heart for his first Christmas day in heaven. 

There is no tension of merriment and grief in heaven. It is just joy there. No more tears. No more tensions.

Thanks be to God.

O Come, Let us Adore Him!

If your heart is breaking today as we enter the Christmas season, perhaps it might help you as well to take a minute and ask, 

“How many Christmas days will I get?”

Hudson's Christmas Stocking

As a way of honoring our son, Hudson’s fight of congenital heart disease, we will be collecting gift cards of any amount to fill Hudson’s Christmas stocking.

We will be sending the gift cards to families who are battling heart disease with a card from Hudson’s Stocking including a note about Hudson’s strong fight.

Families in the hospital on Christmas day desire so desperately to make the day unique and a celebration even in the midst of deep pain and sadness. We hope this small surprise will bring a smile to their tear stained faces.

We hope to send at least 25 gift cards from Hudson!

To join efforts with us, you can mail a gift card of any amount to:

Hudson’s Christmas Stocking

PO Box 1192

Kannapolis, NC 28082

"I Can't Even Imagine"

I’ve heard this phrase more than any other in the last several months after our precious son, Hudson went to heaven. My reply is often, “And I hope you never do.” I truly mean that. I pray that you may never know this loss.

I do want...

To be heard.

To be understood.

To be normal.

To be held.

For someone else to cry with me.

I read a quote recently that could help explain agonizing grief of losing a child to my caring friends who say to me, “I can’t even imagine.” Basically the author said something like burying your child makes you hear sounds you’ve never heard, taste what you’ve never tasted, see colors you’ve never seen. That language of using the senses to describe devastating grief helps me put my own grief into explainable terms to those who love me.

I feel as though each of my senses are affected. Everything is affected. To put into words how my heart feels is an impossible task but some words I can use are shattered, destroyed, agony, tears, loneliness. I feel a million miles from everyone around me. I’m in a fog and only grasp about half of what is said to me. I think that is survival.

If I’m nothing else through this process, I want to be honest and real. I’m not a hero or a spiritual giant. I’m just a mama whose arms are empty at 3am when I should be holding my baby boy.

I love Jesus.

My heart is broken.

That’s the truth.

I’m seeing colors…ones I pray you never know exist.

Ten Things To Do for Families with Children in the Hospital

After spending nine months at the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia with our precious Hudson, we wanted to share a few things that helped us along the way. Our friends and family did these things so well and we are forever grateful.

Hopefully this list will help you if you find yourself with friends in this horrible situation.

1. Pray: the family is exhausted, desperate and at the end of their rope. They have little to no energy to pray for themselves so pray for them often and let them know that you are praying. Add the family to prayer emails at your church. If possible, keep up to date with the current situation with their child and pray specifically.

2. Send Money: hospital life drains a bank account fast. Parking alone can cost $150-$200 a month plus if the family had to relocate, out of town housing immediately hits their budget. Many families lose jobs if care is longer term.

3. Send Food: Seamless Web or Grubhub will let you order, pay and tip from anywhere in the country and deliver it directly to the family. If you don't use those websites, you can easily find a pizza or sub place near the hospital to deliver.

4. Send notes of encouragement and truth. While incredibly hard to believe truth while in the dark, it is helpful to receive scripture and notes of truth.

5. Don't stop reaching out. Whether a text message, a voicemail or a note in the mail, don't stop contacting the parents. They are consumed with fear and dealing with doctors and specialists all day long so they may not reply but don't back away.

6. Take care of their home while they are away. Mowing the grass, checking the mail (and forwarding it), cleaning it before they return.

7. Go! I know this may be impossible depending on the family situation in the hospital and your situation. But, if you are close to the family and there is a way, go by and see them. If they are local, go even for a few minutes. It can feel like a war zone and like the rest of the world keeps spinning and doesn't know you are at war. People stepping inside the war zone makes you feel remembered and supported.

8. Send money (or gift cards). Saying it twice on purpose. While a homemade meal is wonderful, worrying about rent, house payments, medical bills and so on is salt in a very painful wound. If the family doesn't have a fund, create one and get friends to give. The only way our family survived was standing on the shoulders of people who love us.

9. Send something funny. I know this may seem a little strange and it might not work for some people, but getting a good belly laugh out of me in the last year of my life has been almost impossible. A few friends were good at this and believe it or not, that voicemail left in a crazy voice made me laugh out loud as I had tears in my eyes walking to the hospital AGAIN.

10. Share their emotions. If you are grieving with the family, let them know. If you are thinking of them, let them know. If you cry about their child's situation, let them know. It is so hard to step inside the pain of the situation but somehow it helps. It doesn't make sense really but it does help to know that others are feeling at least a portion of what you are feeling as the parent.

Bonus ideas: help with siblings, care packages, cleaning service, help with pets, send a book, buy a subscription to netflix or hulu, do laundry, do something special for holidays/birthdays


Posted in honor and memory of the strongest little man I've every met, our Hudson.

Kitchen Hutch Makeover

Recently Corey and I found this kitchen hutch for sale on Craigslist.
I knew it would need at least a coat of paint for me to like it.

I actually started watching some diy videos of how to use chalk paint and distress furniture. This is the first piece I've ever done.

Here's the first coat of paint before distressing it.

It is not perfect but I'm pretty happy with it.

I got the cute handle pulls from Hobby Lobby.

It has been good for my soul to do a little something crafty even though it is normally outside my wheelhouse.

PS Thanks to Corey's cousin David for picking up the piece for us!

Dear Hudson: a letter to my baby boy in heaven

From Daddy & Mama

Written for our Hudson for his special service

May 20, 2016

Our Precious Hudson, our Huddy Buddy,

We often told you that you were the strongest person we had ever met. We sang Happy Birthday regularly. We would hold you for hours and sing to you and you would hold onto our finger for dear life. We talked about the seasons, what kindergarten is like, what middle and high school is like, prom, college, your amazing grandparents, fun uncles, aunts & cousins, The Alexander Farm and The Sylvestre farm and about tractors and helicopters. How we met and fell in love walking along the HUDSON River. About your big brother, Grahambo who learned the word, “brother” before he could say Hudson because that is how he knew you, his little brother. We told you about everything but most importantly about Jesus and heaven and how it was a real place where we will all be together.

We are so happy that you know the whole story now. You know what eternity is, what God looks like and you’ve touched the nail prints in Jesus’ hands. You’ve seen the golden streets and spent time with the Apostle Paul. There are no scars on your little body. You know the WHOLE story. THE WHOLE REDEMPTIVE STORY. You know your piece of the story and how much of an impact you’ve had on thousands of people, mostly on your mama and daddy’s hearts.

Forevermore, we will be Hudson’s mama and daddy. Though your home is in heaven, you will forever be our special boy who we would stare into your eyes and wished to bring to our house and show you the precious things of life, the mundane things and the most important things. We will miss your chubby cheeks, your squishy arms, your silly side burns and your little grunts telling us about your day.

We wanted to teach your ABC’s and how to count to five. We wanted to see you run and play and call your name across the house when it’s time for bed. We wanted to cuddle you and Graham on the bed just before it was time for “night, night”. We wanted to dance at your wedding and be your children’s grandparents but God’s plan was different.

God chose to call you home and to reveal to you, before us, His whole redemptive story. We don’t know exactly how heaven works. We know we will worship our amazing God but we do hope that God will allow you to welcome us there. To welcome us home, to be truly home and to finally see the whole story alongside you. What a glorious day it will be, to be with you again, our boy. Our precious Hudson. Our Huddy Buddy.

We miss you and wish we could have you back but sweet boy, enjoy our sweet Jesus. We are so glad you are whole.

We best buddies. Daddy, Mama, Graham & Hudson.

We best buddies…forevermore.

Second Born

Second Born

Many people reached out to us offering their love, support, prayers and their own grief, After losing our precious eight-month old son, Hudson to congenital heart disease in March. Many shared their stories or would say, “I can only imagine what this is like for your family.” My heart would whisper, “I hope you never know.”

But, as I walk this dark, deep valley I do want to share my heart and still be able to connect to others. Sharing my heart allows me to grieve with more authenticity and in a safe way through written words. I still hope you never know this sort of loss and if you have, God be near.

I’ve written the thoughts of my heart since I was a teenager keeping a journal about church camp, boys I had crushes on, begging for my husband, my walk with God and dreams for my future. But, since this unbearable season hit my life a year ago, I’ve not written a single page in my journal. Not one single page. I have written on this blog sporadically and kept up Hudson’s Heart facebook page but mostly out of desperation for prayer.

So here I find myself wanting to remember every aspect of my sweet Hudson and writing is the best way for me to do so.

Here’s where I am today….

Lately I have thought a lot about Hudson being our second born. He’s the little brother to Graham Drake. I often notice families with three children and the second child stands out to me. I see a family with a two-year-old and an almost one-year-old and I watch how the siblings react to one another. I’ve also realized so many of my friends are the second born in their families. In fact, I am the second child in my family.

I share these thoughts with you to try to explain a bit more what Corey and I are walking through as we face the future without our Hudson. Perhaps you are the second born in your family or you have two or more children or your close friend is the second born in their family. While horrific to dwell on this, thinking about not having that person in your family and the ripple effects of that person’s life may help you peer into our grief. Perhaps you already know this loss. I hope not.

I don’t know why I’ve focused on this whole “second born thing” the last few weeks but it has helped me realize why the pain is so intense. I’ve not just lost my eight-month precious son (that would be enough) but all of the community he would have had, his teachers, his neighborhood friends, his Sunday school classmates, his soccer or hockey team, his prom date, his college roommate, his future wife and my future grandchildren. That’s a lot to lose wrapped up in one sweet little life.

Of course the losses would be true no matter Hudson’s birth order but as I think about my family without me or Crystal’s family without her or Corey’s family without Tyanne or Carrie’s or Bethany’s family without them…it makes me not be as angry in my grief. I have let myself just be sad at what all we truly have lost. All those relationships I’ll never have. My Huddy and his whole little life ahead of him and the community he would have built. Lost.

The community he built in eight sort months was more than most in a lifetime.

Just think of what he would have done with 80 years!

We miss you our second born boy! We best buddies!

Love you, Huddy.

So, now what?

My amazing husband and I just celebrated three years of marriage on May 11th. Our Graham turned two in February and we lost our eight month old Hudson on March 20th to heart disease.

Corey took a job as a news helicopter pilot in Chicago. As of now we will be there with frequent trips home to North Carolina as we walk through deep grief. Those are the practical things of our life right now. Corey is mostly finished with intense training. I’ve mostly been in North Carolina planning Hudson’s special service and taking care of Graham. I am now finishing a much needed long weekend with friends in New York City (where I lived for many years). I got the special treat of going to a dear friend’s wedding. Congrats, Misty & Braden!

We still need to find housing in Chicago (just outside of Chicago, anyway). I’m headed there with our Grahambo this coming weekend.

But, that doesn’t really answer the “now what?” question for me. I am a task master. To do list maker.

Event planner. House organizer. I can do and fix and do some more.

But, again…that’s not what I am facing really.

It is the being.
How can I just be?

How can I just sit, be quiet, talk to God, listen, be still?
It hurts too much.

New York has been such a gift the last few days. Salve to a deep wound. I’ve walked many miles just crying and pretending I’m still an upper west (best) sider.

The Hudson

I miss my family. I’m ready to be back with them. Oh, do I miss my Huddy Buddy and wish this American Airlines flight could take a layover stop where you are so I could get many snuggles and kisses.

We best buddies.

So, now what?

One foot in front of the other with teary eyes and a broken heart.

PS Thanks to those special New Yorkers who made the trip possible.

Love y’all so much!

Thank you & "How am I doing?"

I don't know that I will ever be able to write each person back who has reached out in the last 8 or 9 months. I owe so many people thank you notes that I should invest in that super cute store, Paper Source. But, that does not diminish each and every note, card, blanket made, care package, gift card, donation, prayer we received. Every single one has been cherished along the way.

My heart is grateful and we would be utterly destitute without you and the generosity of others making sacrifices on our behalf on a daily basis.

So..for what it is worth....

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts. 

You have been a tangible Jesus to our family and you've kept us from being hauled off to the poor house and the loony bin.

The other question I get from people who love me is...

"How are you doing?"

I often don't answer. It is not to be rude. It is because as I read the question worded in so many different ways, I take a moment to reflect.

For months, in just one minute I will be angry, overcome with grief, anxious, full of tears, feel like I may throw up but then belly laugh at my silly husband letting our two year old climb the wall. I'm sleepless yet feel like I've run ten marathons. Every task (including writing this) takes herculean strength to complete. Why does it take me all day to write an email??? I feel like I'm swimming through mud and walking around with cement in my shoes.

How am I supposed to feel? I don't know. I'm mad as hell. I'm devastated. I'll never be the same.

I was reading the book A Grace Disguised this morning. The author lost his mother, wife and daughter in a car accident and he was left to raise their other 3 children. He talks about trauma like this as being an amputation. He says that some loss is like a broken bone that will mend but those who have lost a limb have to learn a new normal altogether. I have a lot to learn.

I've been on the front lines of war and now I'm suddenly jerked back into normal society with PTSD. I'm reading and learning from others who have gone before me on this sorrowful path. I learning that I have no control in my life except my response to what happens.

I refuse to let myself grow bitter because I know we serve a BIG God who does things like allow your baby to die without explanation but He is not cruel. He is good. He is eternal. His ways are not my ways. I'm still mad as hell but He is big enough to handle all of that and loves me just the same.

How am I doing? I'm full of tears and missing my chubby, squishy baby boy and trying to keep myself sane.

My Prayer Life After Losing My Precious Baby Hudson...What does that look like?

This is going to brutally honest...just to warn you.

I don't know about you but my prayer life sometimes looks like a printed plan posted here or there that I diligently pray through. More often than not, it is a breathed prayer here, another there throughout my day, over a meal, as I shower, as I tuck my little Graham into bed, as I drive or walk, etc.

"God, please....we need to park sometime in the next hour. Please help us find a spot where we don't have to walk for a year to get to our apartment!"

"God, please help me find my wallet!"

"God, please be with so and so as they go through this or that."

These are my natural conversations all day long with God. Simple little moments where I try to invite God into my frustration or impatience or whatever is ruling me at the moment. I know I'm supposed to pray in faith but over the last year it has been mostly out of obedience.

But now...what about now?

My sweet husband and I have often stopped to pray together over little things. It is a habit for us.

But now...what about now?

The most important prayers we've ever said seemingly have gone unanswered. And yet, I find myself going about my normal life and breathing a prayer here and prayer there.

Then...I stop...I get angry.

I think....

"Why pray over my lost wallet or phone or a parking place or a job or a house or Syria or the presidential race or ANYTHING EVER AGAIN, when the MOST IMPORTANT PRAYERS...seemingly have gone unheard???"

How can He care about my wallet and answer that stupid prayer in seconds yet not hear me screaming on the bathroom floor for eight months?

Well, if you thought I had answers. You read this for nothing. I don't.

All I have is anger that I'm trying to wash with the eternal words of God.

He is my strong tower. He loves me. His ways are not my ways. His thoughts are above my thoughts. He is God. I am not. He is eternal. I am a piece of grass withering away. I am the apple of His eye. He sent His son to die for me and for my Hudson. He loves me. He loves Hudson.

As I held my baby boy for the last time, we prayed. We prayed over our boy. I will share more about that later but one thing I told God is that we have different values. As a mama...my value is keeping my baby close to me for always. But, it was clear that within a few moments, God was going to allow my son to be taken from me for forever.

So...what does my prayer life look like right now?

Questioning
Anger
Truth
Lies
Tears
Tears
Tears
Anger
Doubt
Truth
Anger
Tears

I know the Bible, folks. I know God. I know ultimately His plans are better than mine but it is almost impossible to believe Him when your child is ripped away from you.

So that's just the brutal truth.

I love Jesus. I'm devastated.
There you have it.

Keep praying. Clearly I need it.

Graham is Two Years Old Today!

Happy Birthday, Graham!!

These are funny things that Graham says that I don't want to forget as he gets older.

Two piece = when he has 2 of something in his hands

Nice = be gentle 

Me too! = I love you

Hudson, love you! Kisses his picture. 

Shut the door, mama 

Down = sit down and play with me 

Right here! = sit here

Ready go, Papa! = ready to go play 

Numatoes = tomatoes 

House = his cardboard box
Resting = lays in the corner for one second and then up again

Abagobble = granola bar

Nannie = banana 

Thump the bed = jump on the bed 

Cozy = wants to snuggle with a blanket 

1, 2, 6 = how he used to count

Amiance = ambulance

More like it! = anything he likes that he doesn't know the name of. (Like almond butter or guacamole)

Cool bus = school bus 
open it out = open it up

City bus = he hears them from inside our apartment in Philly and runs over to the window to see them 

Taxi! 

Oh gosh, funny! 

Hold da mommy = hold me, mommy 

Good boy, mommy = when I do a good job, the best compliment I could ever get

Hey Mommy! = he says hey every few minutes to be sure we are still close. Love that! 

He's learning his numbers, letters and colors. He will point out the ones he knows, so randomly we will hear, "O!" or "W" or "Red!" He can work an iPhone and iPad better and faster than I can.

He loves cherry tomatoes, pickles, tractors, Super Why, Daniel the Tiger, jumping on the bed, playing with Papa Joe, Grandma Betty & Daddy, Thomas the train, dump trucks and dancing to Just Dance videos. He can identify almost any animal including lamas and peacocks plus he's great at making animals noises and fire truck alarms. Thanks to his grandfathers and his daddy he knows the difference between bull dozers, diggers, excavators, front loaders 

and cranes.

Each night at bed time we thank Jesus. Graham has a long list of people he thanks Jesus for. He never forgets Papa Joe,  Zazu (my bro & sis in law's dog) or Hudson. 

We love our big boy and the joy he brings each day. He's so smart and funny. He's loving 

and sensitive and a great big brother to baby Hudson.

We are so proud of him!

Happy 2nd birthday, Graham!

We love you so so much!

My Response to Monty Williams' Words

Don't get me wrong. I love Jesus. I have for many years now. I love His Word and believe it to be true. I would have lost my mind a long time ago without God's Word as my anchor. With that, I agree with every word that Monty Williams said as he honored God, his wife, his family and even the family of the woman responsible for the accident.

BUT, I think that we (us Christians) expect grief and suffering to be tidy. 

What makes me uncomfortable is the unrealistic expectation we put on ourselves as Christians. We quote Romans 8:28 and all should be okay. We often subtly expect our grief to look like resilience and composure just moments after earth shattering tragedy. I'm 100% guilty of distancing myself from grieving friends and family because it made me uncomfortable and I was unsure what to say. I force words I don't mean when I say, "I'm fine" to avoid others feeling uncomfortable. I isolate myself because how I feel about life as we hurt is certainly anything but tidy and composed.

Grief and suffering isn't tidy. In fact, it's excruciating and ugly. It looks like weeping on the bathroom floor for hours screaming for God to intervene. It looks like questioning everything you've ever believed.

While I applaud the example of grace and forgiveness shown in Monty Williams' words, I hope that we, the church, leave space for the untidy, wrestling with God's painful plans, sleepless nights kind of real grief. 

Let's face it. 
That's the kind of grief we have in common with Jesus anyway.

I want to be better at weeping with those that weep.

Hudson is 7 months old!

Hudson is now 7 months old. Our little miracle. He loves his paci 
(preferably on ice) and has 2 teeth on the bottom. His hair has grown so
 much and has gotten darker. I tease him about his Luke Perry side 
burns. He loves to hold hands too. He's had such a rough road but proves
 over and over again how strong he really is. 

 
Last week Hudson 
got to go on his very first stroller ride around the cardiac intensive 
care unit. At first he hated it but after a few minutes, he loved it. It
 took a lot to pull it off with all of his meds & monitors in tow 
but his sweet nurse, Laura, made it happen. 

 
We are so proud of our boy and feel so privileged to be his mama and daddy!