Despite the picture above, this is not meant to be a depressing post, so please read on.
Earlier this week, on an unseasonably warm and sunny day, I decided to stop at the cemetary where Drew is buried. As I made the turn on the circular driveway, I saw a perfect little tree--decorated with sprigs of holly, silver beads, and a red bow--next to where he was laid to rest. As the only little tree among rows and rows of stones, it looked like he was having his own little Christmas. But I knew better. The tree was there for Eric and me, courtesy of Drew's thoughtful and loving Auntie Lindsay.
I knelt down for a moment to take it all in. While I still wish he was celebrating Christmas--and every other day--here with us, he's celebrating with the very One whom Christmas is all about. The One who came as a baby, born in a gritty stable, to give us life. The ultimate gift, from the ultimate Giver.
I will miss Drew until the day we meet again. But today, I am thankful for his life, and the fact that Jesus's birth and life have given us a second chance. He's made it possible for us to reunite with our son--in a place where the most Griswald-esque Christmas display won't hold a candle to the heavenly light show.
Now that is something to celebrate!
