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Therefore the grave hath no victory, and the sting of death is swallowed up in Christ πŸ’›

At 9:30 on this morning 8 years Ago, I woke up to the news that my uncle had decided that this planet was not a place that he could bare to reside any longer. At the age of 28, the age I am now, he chose to leave us without explanation or comfort.

At 10:00 on this morning 8 years ago, my family gathered at my grandparents house, a place that’s usually filled with joy, banter and a sense of completeness. We cried together, held each other and made endless cups of tea like any good British family in a crisis. Our family as we knew it was irrevocably shattered. There are no words that will ever fully be able to describe how dark that morning was. So I’m not even going to try.

My grandparents are my two most favourite people on the planet. They are the most humble, selfless and loving people I know and to watch them say goodbye to their only son without knowing why, broke me completely. On this morning every single year since I know that they go through the same thing. They experience the same emotions and sense of destruction. My entire family spends this day mourning the loss of someone we loved. Except me. And on this day, for the last 6 years I have felt guilty for not sharing the same feelings of emptiness as they do.

It is not that I don’t miss the boy, it’s not that I wouldn’t have him back, and it’s not that I’m angry with him. It’s that the hole that was made within me when he left has been filled. He has not been replaced but the wounds of his departure have been healed. By the knowledge, light, and love of Christ. That Sunday morning, when Christ was resurrected, the sting of death was removed. Because of that Sunday morning, my uncle will get his Sunday morning. And I’ll get my Sunday morning. And before you know it we’ll be having Sunday morning siestas together in a place with no wounds or emptiness.

Because of the things that I’ve learned about God’s plan of salvation I know that death as we know it on the earth is no where close to the end. When I was 10 my uncle went to work away in Holland for a few months. And I was genuinely distraught that he was gone. It felt like an absolute eternity to my innocent brain. I see his absence just like that now, because In the same way as then, it’s so so temporary. He is not gone. He is just somewhere else. Just because I can’t see him does not mean he isn’t there. And I long for that Sunday, the other side of the veil where we will gather together again. We’ll still hold each other but we will cry tears of joy instead of grief, and there’ll probably be less tea. I’m so insanely grateful that I know this, and I’m grateful beyond words for the saviours sacrifice allowing us all to have our Sunday’s. Allowing my grandparents grief to only be as temporary as this earthly life. πŸ’›

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