“I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in Me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in Me will never die.” — John 11:25–26

The journey of three years — one thousand and ninety-three days since Ed stepped from this world into the arms of Jesus. In some ways, it feels like yesterday; in others, like a lifetime ago. Today is not merely about marking time passed, but celebrating a continuing life — one now lived in the presence of our Savior.

What comfort I find in knowing that Jesus Himself prepared the way for Ed. The Bible assures me that to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord (2 Corinthians 5:8). This isn’t wishful thinking or mere consolation — it is the rock-solid promise upon which I stand, both as I continue integrating life as it is now and as I celebrate.

Ed isn’t just “somewhere.” He is with Jesus. And being with Jesus means experiencing joy beyond earthly comprehension, peace that surpasses understanding, and love in its purest and most perfect form.

There is a beautiful mystery in the communion of saints — the spiritual connection between believers in heaven and those still journeying on earth. I continue to need courage to run my own race with perseverance, inspired by the faithful example I celebrate today. May I fix my eyes on Jesus, just as my dear husband did, running with purpose until I too cross that final finish line.

“Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the Author and Perfecter of our faith” (Hebrews 12:1–2).

Christ has already secured our victory over death, yet we still await the final resurrection and restoration of all things. Ed lives in the “already” — experiencing the direct presence of God, free from pain, sorrow, and the limitations of our fallen world.

I continue in the “not yet” — where tears still come, where memories bring both joy and sadness, where I journey forward carrying hope. This tension is part of my faith journey, and acknowledging it brings authenticity to my worship and my remembrance.

Today is indeed a celebration of life — not just the life that was, but the life that continues. I celebrate who my husband was, the love we shared, and the legacy he left. Even more profoundly, I celebrate the life he now experiences in Christ’s presence — perfect, complete, and eternal.

This does not diminish my grief or the reality of missing him. Rather, it places that grief within the larger context of Christian hope. I grieve, but not as those without hope. I miss him, but I know exactly where Ed is. I feel the separation, but I trust in the promised reunion.