Easter Sunday

We made it to church this week. It took a great amount of effort but we both knew we wanted to make it there for Easter. I knew I probably wouldn't be able to pay attention to the majority of the service with tending to a newborn or walking out with him when I needed, but, still, there was something to just sitting in that back pew. It, of course, brought back so many memories of the Sunday we took Sully to church. Now, a year and a few months later we were back in that same spot, sitting with the same dear friends, with an infant in a car seat. Yet how much has changed. As the service ended and the congregation sang Amazing Grace I felt the tears well up in my eyes and stream down my cheeks. There is such joy in holding Jasper and yet still such a rawness inside of me, a wounded faith as I described it to a friend the other day. I recognize that I still have so many questions and yet, in those moments of singing that old hymn, I knew that despite my faith being shaken to its bare bones, it is, in deed, still in tact. I do still believe that one day I will know my Sully again. This Sunday is such a celebratory one because I do believe in the resurrection and all that it means for me and for my son and for my family.