We resolved to give our little warrior a name that his tribe would be proud to speak forever.
We tiptoe the line between life and death.
I knew carrying his casket would be torture, but it was my exclusive tribute to my firstborn son.
In the shadow of our son’s death, I have gotten to witness the staggering beauty of motherhood.
In the midst of the storm, our son made us sing in the rain.
The horror of death’s shadow could not eclipse the wonder of my beloved son.
My cries as a father have been met with thundering silence from above.
Our family was being ambushed again, throwing us into a panic of despair and fury.
Despite the agony of the decision, the opportunity to choose our son is something I now cherish as Eli’s father.
Either path before us ended in devastation, paralyzing us in the midst of our grief.
I had a dream for our future family. But this dream has been twisted into a horrible nightmare.
The agony that I’ve become so familiar with is no mere visitor. This unwelcome intruder has moved in to stay.
We were guarded. On watch. But no amount of caution could prevent us from being destroyed.
Jillian is my best friend. I adore my strong, selfless, and sassy wife.
Eli is my little warrior. I loved him desperately as his time was short.
Jesus is my gracious King. He holds on even when I let go.