2 Years and just under a month ago. His death was ushered in by the cold winds of winter, flakes being tossed towards the ground in a freezing whoosh of air. That day of his memorial service, gloomy clouds loomed over us, seeming to note just how we felt. His death was a loss none of us was willing to bare, but bare we did, because we must. In that year and four months, my cousins grew from boys to men. My aunt. There are no words I can use that begins to describe her strength, her love, her devotion.

The morning of his funeral, I sat in the front, wishing I could cower in the back. I did not wish to witness this. I did not wish to endure it. It wasn't necessarily my own pain that I wished to escape, but the incredible desire to not see people so close to my heart in more pain than I. It was a beautiful funeral, in a beautiful Catholic church, with stained glass windows and hard tile that made my heels clank along the steps as we walked to our seats. The scents of the hundreds of flowers that filled the sanctuary and the incense is burned crisp into my memory, just like that crisp October morning. I don't remember much about what was said. I don't remember much about what we did. All I remember is sitting and standing, biting my lip trying to keep my thousands of tears from spilling over like water just released from a dam.

There are things you just don't forget. Moments in time that are burned into your memory like a brand on a calf. You don't forget the details. The tree was practically in its full autumnal color, rich with orange and golden leaves floating down to the ground, the sky blue after its gloom from the night before.

I still hear my aunts sobs as she said her final goodbye upon that green hill. My cousins aren't typically "huggers." But the hugs we gave each other that day said just as much as a thousand little hugs we've given through the years.

We've endured thanksgivings and Christmas's without him. We've endured what would have been his birthday. We've endured summers lacking his boat driving expertise as we are wakeboarding and waterskiing, fishing expertise, camping and hunting expertise, ice-cream eating expertise, and that "That's so uncle Karl" humor.
Yet each year his death's sting doesn't lessen. It still hurts that he isn't with us. Heaven called his name, but too many times have I sat and ached for his company during family gatherings. And every time I think to myself "If it's this painful for me, then how painful is it really for my cousins and aunt?"

In the past 7 days, my family said goodbye to one of our own, my best friend said goodbye to her grandfather, and a co-worker said goodbye to a close friend. It's been one of those weeks. You know. The kind that you start thinking about your own life in a way that typically doesn't come about. The kind that makes me start thinking of how I'm living my own life, how much my friends and family mean to me, and the urgency to spread the hope that those who believe in Jesus Christ and accept the oh-so-precious gift that is forgiveness will be reunited with each other in a land that will be so far beyond our best dreams and wildest imaginations.

If you don't know what it's like to hope beyond all doubts, to have a faith in someone that will always be with you and take care of you, even beyond death, then seek and understand who Jesus Christ REALLY is, what he did, and what that means for you if you accept what he has given you...life beyond death!
1 Corinthians 15:
55 “ O Death, where is your sting?
O Hades, where is your victory?”
56 The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law.
57 But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
58 Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your labor is not in vain in the Lord.

*For my dear Uncle Karl,
we miss you. And we look forward to the day where we may see you again! Save me some steak & crab legs up there, ok? With so much love.