I remember going to the rehearsal of the choir I sang with in Germany. We were due to sing a set of Good Friday music, but as I had been at the hospital so much I had to drop out. I had a bit of time free that Friday while Adam was asleep, so I went to the church and listened. The music was beautiful, so beautiful that I couldn't bear it and left, after sobbing my way through the first half. Knowing the contrast between all that they were singing and all that was happening five minutes away was more than my heart could bear.
Interestingly though, and quite apart from any coincidence: the day Adam finally was able to come off the ventilator and into my arms, his best day so far, was Sunday. Easter Sunday. So the significance of this time of year, of all that Christ was and is, is not lost on our family.
This year, yesterday on Good Friday, we went for a hike. Our first ever family hike. We completed--yes, completed--a walk of 1.5 miles. And Adam walked most of the way himself. He also jogged a bit, sat and threw rocks into a puddle with his brother (and got FILTHY!), asked to be held, touched our faces, and smiled. In general, he was whole, and healthy, and alive. I am grateful for Adam's transformation over the years, for the person he is and the family we are because of he and his brother.
It is very much a Good Friday. And He is risen indeed.