Lord,
Parents are not supposed to bury their children.
Everything in me cries out against this.
There were supposed to be more birthdays.
More photographs.
More ordinary Tuesdays.
More conversations.
More chances to say, “I love you.”
I would give almost anything for one more ordinary day.
God, I cannot change what happened.
I cannot go backward.
I cannot reach across the distance between this life and eternity.
But You can.
You are already there.
So go where I cannot go.
Hold my child.
And then come back into this room and hold me too.
When grief arrives suddenly—in the grocery store, in the car, at a holiday table, beside an empty bedroom—stay.
When other people stop mentioning my child’s name because they are afraid of making me sad, remind me that You have not forgotten.
You know that name.
You knew my child before I did.
You loved my child before I did.
And You love my child still.
Mary and Joseph, stay near every parent carrying this cross.
Blessed Fulton Sheen, pray for us.
Jesus, I cannot carry tomorrow yet.
Give me grace for today.
And when today is too much, give me grace for the next hour.
And when an hour is too much, stay with me through the next breath.
Amen.