Yesterday morning, Brian received the text from my mama that my grandmother had passed away. It was time to take the big kids to school, but Julia wasn’t feeling well. She had laryngitis, could barely speak, and was exhausted. Brian scooped up Mary Alice, asked Riley to ride with them, and took Nate to the carpool stop. Julia was still sleeping and I just sat there in bed. I made the phone call to mom to hear the story of how it happened.

She told me it was very peaceful. Dad was holding her hand. Her breathing slowed and she would say “Awe” ever so often. It happened at 3am. Mom and dad hadn’t slept yet, but they were still making arrangements and phone calls. We hung up and I just sat there. It was one of those moments when I could feel everything. The soft sheets, my pajamas, the pillows, the phone case. I felt the grief rising up inside me and decided to let it out since I was alone.

I decided it would be good to get a long cry out while Brian had the kids out of the house.

I heard the door open and Julia was standing in the doorway. I hadn’t woken her up, but she was just checking to see where everyone was. I told her what happened and she crawled into bed with me. I cried for at least five minutes. Not once did she try to get up or stop hugging me. Once I had started the real cry, I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t talk. The grief had to spill out. There was no stopping it.

When I was able to talk, I apologized for the tears. She said, “Mom, maybe that is why I’m here, so that you don’t have to be alone right now.”

My Julia. Convinced that her suffering was there so that she could be available for someone else.

Dear Father, help me to remember that our suffering can be a gift for others, just as Your Son suffered to give us the greatest gift.