Visiting Jason’s Grave

A grave matter I know, this is. Some people don’t like to visit the grave, and others do. For some it’s an almost compulsory ritual, for others it’s taboo. There are many perspectives to this, and I’ll share mine.


I like to take flowers to Jason’s grave as often as I can, especially on special occasions. I go there, I see how the place has changed, how the vegetation has grown or withered depending on the weather and I wonder about the changes happening below the cross and slab that we can see.


I remember the days preceding the funeral, and how we went to see to the preparation of the place. The friends that were with us, the friends that drove us around when we couldn’t, the friends that spent time with us. And I know, we’re not alone.


Then I remember the burial day and the events that took place on that day, from early in the morning to late in the evening. And I know that we are surrounded by love.


Then my mind drifts to my little boy, and his last days here on earth. And I cry, I weep. I hold on to the flowers as to dear life and I thank God for the time I had my son to hold. I thank Him for the good memories, the good times, the laughter, the joy – everything. I tell God that I don’t understand how He could do such a thing, and how it could ever glorify Him. I ask Him whether He’ll come sooner instead of later and take us all to be with him. Sometimes I ask myself what I could have done to save Jason’s life.


And sometimes I wonder whether it was all part of God’s plan. A friend and I were discussing God’s grand design, and it seems that God places people in our lives in advance to come in and help us in times of need. Why do children in slums survive the hunger and the cold, while children with medical covers die? I still don’t get it. It must have been in God’s design for Jason to die when he did, because I can tell you he had an awesome medical cover. But even that couldn’t save him.


So I sit some more and I ask God why, oh why did He let it happen. Then I remember that God watched His own Son die. And that must have been hard. But His Son resurrected!!! It’s unfair!!! And I cry some more. The crying slows down to a sniff. And then my mum, or Rupert’s mum, or the friends we’re with pray for us. And hug us. And hold us.


I’d like to say it gets easier every single time, but it doesn’t. But we learn by and by, to accept that Jason is gone, it’s only his body that lays beneath the ground, and that Jason himself is very happy up there in heaven, with Jesus.

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