grieving with guinever

I’ve been thinking a lot about this upcoming holy week being 21 Easters or 20 years without Abby. Here I jump back and forth from 2005 and 2025. The feeling of loss is fresh again because of Alex dying just a short 18 months ago. With that said, joy and sorrow co-exist!

2005–it’s Palm Sunday and Abby, my 2 year old sings “holy holy holy.”

She keeps singing “holy” while everyone else moves through the rest of the Sanctus. “Blessed is he who comes in the names of the Lord.”

Abby has a palm branch and waves it. She takes the palm branch home with her and stands at the coffee table singing holy. It was very sweet.

Palm Sunday 2025. About a month ago, I asked to have the flowers in memory of Abby. Twenty years seemed so big, so huge, a milestone. I wanted to remember that last Palm Sunday where she was alive and singing. When asked if I wanted the bulletin to say Abby or Abigail, I hesitated. It was Alex’s birthday too, so I said in memory of Alex and Abby Van Campen.

The flowers were fabulous and beautiful and exactly what I wanted. I took them home and enjoyed them until Friday when I took them to the cemetery.

Tuesday 2005

it’s Tuesday,
the day when heaven beckoned,
angels all around me.
butterflies abound.
earthly life suspended.
eternity begun.

Wednesday and Thursday 2005. Planning a funeral for my baby girl. I don’t wish that on anyone! Trying to comfort a 4 and 6 year old who shouldn’t have to face this kind of death so young. I still remember coming into the house and Alex asking me if Abby was all better. Yes, she was all better, just not what we had hoped for! Caleb later said she went out to play and went to heaven. Out of the mouth of a 4 year old!

2006–March 22nd rolled around, the first anniversary of her death. It was hard, really hard. It didn’t occur to me that first anniversary of her death I’d have to grieve all over again a month later even harder when Easter arrived.

Fast forward 20 years. Wednesday 2025. It was my turn to read the devotional at work. I turned the page and it was called, “A Mother’s Love.” I looked up from the book, and said I have not pre-read this so I have no idea what’s coming and how it will affect me.

(Haha. Little did I know…)

When I said that, I thought it might be sappy or sentimental or sweet about mothering little ones or about empty nest or sacrifice. It was actually about a son dying. I could not get through the whole thing!

I am so thankful for my coworkers. So understanding and compassionate! Someone brought me a sparkling water and a pretty glass to put it in and invited me to her office. Others joined. Later, someone else bought me lunch. I’m so thankful to be in a such a supportive environment on a daily basis.

Good Friday 2005. Three days had gone by since my daughter died. That was hard. A little casket. A visitation. A million people in a room filled with flowers.

Good Friday 2025. An early morning. A treat from my favorite bakery. Dropping flowers at the cemetery and then taking more photos of crosses, angels, and stained glass. Did you see the photos I took last week? These newer ones aren’t published yet. Then I met my youngest son at the park to get one last photo for his senior slideshow. Then it was off to the library for editing the photos where my daughter and baby joined me. So much cuteness and joy!

Good Friday Service. No matter how many years pass, it’s always under the surface what I was doing on this day in 2005.

Saturday 2005. A funeral, a graveside service, and one of those obligatory post-funeral lunches.

Saturday 2025. Pancakes. Taking it easy. Writing. Enjoying a visit from my daughter’s family. Giving kisses to my grandson and making him smile.

Easter Sunday 2005. Attending church and hearing that the tomb was empty. Oh, my tomb was very full that year. Oh, death where is your sting? It stung so much that year.

Buried a day, I was numb.

Buried a year, I was sobbing.

That third Easter, the second year, things were easier. My first Easter without her, the day after I buried her, I sat in church and I was stiff and numb and cold and wrecked. That day, the tomb was not empty. My grave was full, very full. Where was my empty tomb? Where was my miracle?

Easter 2025. Our church has such beautiful music. Oh, death where is your sting? Well, it still stings. A LOT. Alex’s death is still so new 18 months out. Still seems so senseless and pointless and another unanswered prayer. I take a handkerchief with me to church. I wring it in my hands. There’s usually (not always) at least one song where there’s a phrase or two that makes the tears fall.

Lives again our glorious King, Alleluia!
Where, O death, is now thy sting? Alleluia!
Once he died, our souls to save. Alleluia!
Made like Him, like Him we rise Alleluia!
Where, the victory, oh grave?  Alleulia!

Today,  someone told me that she remembers Abby's funeral. She remembers it was the Saturday before Easter, and it had been the first time she had ever experienced grief and loss during Holy Week. She said it was what the disciples must have felt on Saturday after Jesus died on Friday.

...but Sunday was coming. 

But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. ⁶ He is not here, for he has risen, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. (Matthew 28:5-6)

I’ll end this with a video of my favorite Easter song. Coincidence or not, the title is “Easter Song.” I chose this live version from 1982 even though it’s not as fancy as the newer lyric versions. (Skip forward to 1 minute, 45 seconds if you want to skip the introduction and just get right to the singing.)

“Joy to the World, He is risen, Hallelujah! He’s risen!”