My husband’s Aunt Judy passed away last week, in the early morning hours of Good Friday, the same hours I imagine Christ would have been praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. It was fitting. Judy was a faithful Army veteran who had undergone her own passion over the past few years, beginning with a house fire that covered her (already disabled) body with third-degree burns. A profound sense of peace filled the church during her funeral mass, which was punctuated by the cries of joy and... Read this story
