In the midst of deep sorrow and heavy decisions, life presses on in ways we don’t always expect. Yesterday marked a pivotal day in our grieving process, a day filled with decisions that felt both impossibly difficult and deeply necessary. As we navigated the heart-wrenching path of planning for our beloved Luke’s final resting place, we found ourselves praying, reflecting, and coming to terms with the profound weight of it all.
We had to choose the funeral home that would help guide us through these uncharted waters. The weight of that decision was not just logistical; it was emotional. It felt impossible to think about preparing our son for a final goodbye. Do we cremate him? Can we even bear the thought? Do we bury him instead? Why do these decisions feel so heavy? It’s as if every question holds more weight than it should, and every answer pulls at our hearts in ways we never imagined. But in the midst of the struggle, we turned to prayer, surrendering our questions, our fears, and our hearts to God.
After much prayer, we made the decision to bury Luke. We chose a funeral home we feel deeply connected to, and what brings us comfort is that the cemetery is right on-site. Tomorrow, we’ll choose the exact plot for our son, and there’s a part of us that feels peace knowing we’re leaning toward a place called the “Eternal Garden.” The name alone seems fitting for Luke, given his heart for ministry here on earth and the ultimate goal of being in Heaven, where he is now. There is comfort in knowing that our son, whose life was marked by love and service, will rest in a space that mirrors the eternal joy he now knows.
Today, the heaviness of grief settled deeper. While there were moments of joy and laughter shared with family still here, it was accompanied by deeper conversations. Sitting with pastors, discussing the funeral service, and sharing our hearts as we laid out our wishes and requests — all of it made the reality of our loss feel all the more tangible. I miss my baby more than words can express. But deep within, I know he doesn’t miss me because he is in the presence of Jesus, completely healed, whole, and free from pain. Though it hurts to know that I can’t hold him again, I find peace in knowing that he is in the arms of the One who created him.
As we prepare for the funeral, many people have asked if we will live stream the service. After praying and discussing it with my husband, we’ve decided not to. Instead, we’ll record the service and later edit the most meaningful moments into a video we can all cherish. This feels like the right decision for us — a way to preserve the sanctity of the day and the intimate moments of our grief, while also honoring the memory of Luke in a way that feels true to who he was.
On a more human note, I’ll admit that I forgot to drink enough water today. Grief has a way of clouding the simplest of needs, and I’ve had my fair share of days where I forget to care for myself. But I’ll try to do better tomorrow. On a lighter note, I did manage to color my hair today — small wins amidst the heavy. And while I’m not sure if I have the energy, I’m hoping I’ll have enough strength to install my weave in the morning and even squeeze in a lash appointment. If anything, I don’t want to look like a “naked mole rat” at the funeral, as I jokingly told my husband. The human side of me still wants to feel put together, despite everything.In the midst of all this sorrow, I’ve realized something important: it’s okay to laugh, even when you’re grieving. Grief isn’t always just sadness — it’s a mixture of sorrow and joy, of heaviness and lightness. Both can exist together, and finding moments of lightness in the darkest times doesn’t mean we’re forgetting our loss. It simply means that we’re learning to carry our grief in a way that still allows room for life, for moments of levity, and even for healing.
As we continue to navigate this journey, one thing has become crystal clear: love is present in every moment of grief. Every decision, every tear, every laugh, and every prayer is a testament to the love we have for Luke. His memory will live on in all the ways we continue to love and honor him, even as we navigate the pain of letting him go.
Though the road ahead remains uncertain and filled with more heartache, I take comfort in knowing that grief, sorrow, and joy can coexist. And as we move forward, I trust that the love that remains will continue to guide us through the darkness.
We will carry our son’s memory with us, honoring him in every step, and allowing ourselves to laugh, to cry, and to heal in the process.
