Our seventh Thanksgiving without Andrew.
I miss him.
I still have days when the grief takes my breath away. But those days are rare and far between. The missing is more of a dull ache than searing pain.
His name is mentioned. His siblings remember. His friends remember. We remember.
But even if no one remembered him, his name is written in God’s Book of Life, never to be erased. He will never be in my home again, but he is Home. He is living in the presence of Christ.
Some day I will join him in Heaven.
Until that day, I have good works to do which God prepared in advance for me to do (Eph 2:10).
I will serve my family joyfully this holiday. I will laugh, eat too much, tell stories, and enjoy stories told by others around our table.
Once again we have someone living with us. She will join us for lunch Thursday. A gal whose home was flooded in a tropical storm. She’s living here until she gets back on her feet and can afford a place of her own.
I don’t often speak of it, but this is one good work I can do – we have an empty bedroom, never to be filled by him again. Instead, we’ve had many different folks live in that room rent-free since he left earth. Some stay a few days or weeks; one stayed more than a year. However long they are here, this is their home.