Friday, August 24, 2012

For My Hudson Boy

I have not written on my blog for a very long time. I think I've been afraid to incase my world fell apart again. It started out as a place for me to articulate my thoughts as I tried to navigate my way through a season of brokeness. After a while, I didn't feel so broken anymore and life got busy, so I stopped writing.

But I'm back now. Back in a season of brokeness, and in need of a place to write it out... I've not had a lot of success with journalling in the past because it really just ends up being a massive pitty party and I'm most often discouraged to read over previous entries. When I blog, however, I don't feel the freedom to just mope around in my own sorrow because there is potential for other people to read it. With this in mind I am forced to consider what is actually true and what is not. The truth is that there is hope to be found. I am still confident of this, I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

Below is a record of my inspiration for re-opening this blog. It is the Eulogy that my brother read on my behalf at my son's funeral last month. Hudson Charles King was stollen from this world far too soon, but he has left behind a legacy of tremendous blessing. I have learned so much from him and, for me at very least, the world is a richer and fuller place for having had him in it, even though only briefly. To loose a child is to open your eyes, and the world will forever look different. I only hope that I can honour him as I try to communicate the beauty that has been revealed to me through the blessing of my little Hudson boy.

From Hudson's funeral on July 25, 2012.
First of all I would like to thank you all so very much for coming. It is so precious to Andrew and I that we have this opportunity to share our little boy with you. We are so very proud of him and will take every chance we are given to share him with as many people as possible. Before I get too much further I want to apologise in advance if this drags on a bit, but this is my moment to boast unashamedly, and I’m going to make the most of it.


First things first… this little boy is perfect. I’m so thankful that I will not remember my sweet Hudson as anything but perfect. I am so sad that no one else had the joy of knowing this little guy like I did. I had a lot of fun with my precious Hudson.  I want to tell you as much as I can about him. This little guy had spunk! My body almost fell apart just carrying him to term. I remember having mild panic attacks just thinking about what he was going to be like when he finally got out. I could barely contain this kid on the inside, let alone as a toddler, or a teenager.  There is no doubt in my mind that he was going to be the first of the three kids to get stitchers, or break a limb, or both. He was such an active bubby. And when he moved, he was not half-hearted about it. He was not going to have the grace of his big sister, or the tenderness of his big brother. He was just going to be big and bold in everything he did. He was most active at night… every time of night. I loved going to bed and feeling him just romp and play. I haven’t really slept since I was about 20 weeks pregnant. I’m actually really thankful for the lack of sleep now because it has given me such precious memories. I was not allowed to lie on my back, and he was most content when I lay on my left. I would usually concede defeat at around 2 in the morning and get up to eat ice cubes to sooth my heartburn. He liked ice too. He would kick his little feet right up into my lungs and tickle inside my ribs with his little toes for a while. Then he’d finally settle, and we would both manage to get three or four hours sleep. Most mornings I would wake up early to a bout of hiccups. He loved the water too. We had lots of fun in the bath together. He really never stopped moving, he was just active all the time. I was so looking forward to watching him grow up on the beach. This is a perfect place for active kids to grow up. I was looking forward to teaching him to ride a horse. Our kids are going to have so many great adventures out at Aunty Betsy’s place. I’m sure he would have managed to get every bit as dirty as Eliana does digging holes with Uncle Fenno.  Towards the end I became convinced that he was a thumb sucker, just because of the way he moved at times. The nurses tell me that he was sucking his thumb when he was born. I really love that. I sucked my thumb until I was about 7 years old. He was a Mummy’s boy. I could not be more proud of him, and I miss him.


To my family I want to say thank you. You have all been an unspeakable blessing to Andrew and I over the last days. To have every one of you drop everything in your life to come and walk along side us has been amazing. We feel so loved and so secure. I don’t think I will ever be able to fully express  just how greatful I am to you all for providing this love and security for us. Thank you for the way you have loved Jordan and Eliana. Simply knowing that our kids have been in the secure care of a family who loves them and knows how to walk with them  through their own journey of grief has made the horror of this situation more bearable for Andrew and I. You have all done an amazing job. I know that we are all just flying by the seat of our pants through this, but I just want to say thank you for doing all the right things at exactly the right time. I love you. My family and Andrew’s family, I love each of you so dearly and I could not be more proud of the way you have carried yourselves and carried our little family through this.


Andrew, Thank you. Can I just tell everyone that I am proud of this man. There is not another person on this earth that I would rather walk along this crappy road with. It is an honour to be called your wife. Watching you walk through this last week has made me fall in love you 1000 times over. There are no answers to the questions we have, and there is no right way of getting through something like this. But you Andrew, have done everything right this last week. You are a man of such character. Grace, integrity, strength, humility -  these are the words that come to mind when I think of the man that you are. You are courageous. I have always known this about you. But in these last 10 days you have gone above and beyond what any man should ever have to and nobody in this room could deny that you are a godly man and that you have lead your family well.


I know one question that many of you are anxious to ask is, “am I going to be OK?” The simple answer is no. There is nothing about this situation that is ever going to be ok. Fifty years from now I will still weep on July 17. The path that my family has been asked to walk is too difficult for anyone to undertake, and nobody should ever have to look at a little white box that now carries their child. No amount of time or reflection will ever heal what has been ripped away from me. I look in the mirror, and all I can see is a broken shell of the person that stood there 10 days ago. But I do now have to speak of what I also know to be true. Hudson is gone, and we will not have the priviledge of enjoying him on this earth. But my God remains, His love still runs deep, and His faithfulness endures forever. For those of you who know us well, you will understand that grief is not a new journey for Andrew and I. One small blessing from this is that we have learned a few things along the way. Horrible things happen because this world is broken. The world we live in is not the world it was designed to be. And sometimes horrible things happen for no other reason.  And yes, God could have stopped this horrific thing from happening. He is able to do that kind of stuff. Don’t you worry, He knows just how angry I am that He didn’t do that this time. And there is not now, nor will there ever be an answer to the question of ‘why?’. But one thing I have learned from grief in that past is that whatever has been broken, whatever has been crushed by the evil things in this life, God will redeem it for the good of His children and the Glory of His beautiful name. He is a God who does not change, who loves His children and who is not distant. And the times when I have nothing left in me but to lie on the floor of the shower and cry until my bones ache, He will be there with me. He knows my pain and it hurts Him too. But He is also my Redeemer. In the past He has shown me that the seed of faith that He planted in my heart many years ago grows with the pain of grief. And that beautiful seed bears its richest fruit in the darkest of days. So no, I am not OK. I am a broken person and will forever be changed by the loss of my beautiful Hudson boy. But I am not ashamed of my brokenness, because I know that my Redeemer lives. Jesus loves me. This I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little ones to Him belong. They are weak, but He is strong.


  1. Thanks for sharing this with us Jakki. So many things I can say, but as always inadequate. It's hard to be so far away and still show support. This has allowed me to feel like I am just sitting with you, listening, praying with you. Thank you for allowing us to do so. May you continue to find your treasures in darkness, even in the confusion and grief. Love to you all.

  2. Oh, Jakki, what a tribute - what a mum you are. This is just a little hiccup along the way - you know Hudson's waiting to spend Eternity with you, the Lord's just taking care of him for a while. You will make him proud every day until that day, Honey!