Thoughts of a grieving woman:

I lost my little brother, Noah David Muonio (aka Noah Boa).

I am grateful that he let me call him my Noah Boa...I think potty training someone gives you the privilege of calling them whatever you like, right? Maybe he agreed. :)

I miss him.

I love him.

He was so kind, so very kind. He was gentle and unassuming and a selfless servant. His quiet manner and pleasant presence had behind it a bundle of potential that I was so excited to see unveiled.

I used to call him a firecracker that was not yet lit...but that, when the right fire touched the wick, would light up this world and take away the breath of those of us who had the privilege of watching his life unfold.

But I don’t get to see this.

He’s gone.

Planning your brother’s funeral is a strange thing.

The grieving process in general is strange. We have traditions for death and grief. I didn’t realize that was unusual until my sister-in-law Jess said to me, “I hate that you guys have traditions for funerals...I can understand weddings or graduations, but no one should have to have traditions for deaths.”

We really have lost a lot. As a family we are seasoned grievers together.

Every once in a while I look at us and think, “And then there were 9.” How did we get down to the single digits? We’ve always been the family with the dozen kids.

As a family, I feel like God has really taught us how to hold His blessings in loose hands. He gives and takes away and blessed be His name. I am grateful that we got to have Noah for the short time that he was here. He is our brother, a part of our family...we got to have him. He was our gift. Lucky us. :)

I’m dreading Wednesday.

Wednesday we are going to meet his body at the airport. An honor guard from the Air Force will be accompanying him. Wednesday we are going to be confronted with Noah’s death head on. We are going to look into a coffin and see his lifeless body; and every strand of “this isn’t real” is going to be torn down and we are going to know that this is real and undeniable. And I don’t know how I will be able to stand.

But more than my own confrontation, I am going to look upon my family confronting this reality. I am going to have to watch their hearts break in front of me all over again, I am going to have to hear and see them weep. And I can’t do anything about it; I can’t take away their pain or carry their grief; I can’t mend their broken hearts or lift up their crushed spirits...all I will be able to do is hug them and weep with them and love them and our tears are just going to flood the place.

I’m dreading Wednesday.

But will that be harder than Saturday?

Saturday I am going to bury my brother. We are going to honor him at his funeral and carry him to his grave. Then we are going to bury him and walk away from a pile of dirt.

And I won’t get to see him again this side of eternity.

And I miss him.