The end of the worst year of our lives so far. How different last NYE was, filled with hope.

It was a year that began in triumph, with four children, and the prospect of beginning our onerous recovery from years of hardship.

But it tragically became a year with the worse horror of unexpectedly palliating and saying goodbye to one of our precious children.

It’s not that we’ve been “hit by a bus”, regained our feet, only to be hit by another bus. No, we never even got to stand up in between buses in the first place – for years.

Many would assume that we’re looking forward to turning the corner into 2020, and leaving the ghastly 2019 behind.

But as I sat on our staircase consoling my weeping eldest daughter this evening, who doesn’t want to leave Ned behind in 2019 and enter a new year without him, who wants time to stand still just before the clock ticks over, it became bleakly evident that the relentlessly passing time just aggravates the deep ache. It’s the physical planet’s ambivalence to our emotional standstill. And each moment marching by represents more and more distance from our previous reality, from Ned’s existence, from his last touch, giggle, cuddle, and conversation. Distance from the traumatic 2019 will not ease the torment.

So onward, into a new, unwanted year we must go, as a family minus one. A new year that Ned will never be a part of. History being written without one of our children. Like changing trains, and leaving one child behind on the train platform.

Yet as I reflect over the course of today, I’m also being inundated with updates about the terrifying fire attack unfolding on mainland Australia, and I attempt to put myself in the shoes of those caught up in such horror – today will be a day etched in their memory for whatever awful reason, and their steep roads of processing the trauma, of working towards recovery, begin today.

And so, as we enter a new year, leaving a year of terrible devastation and sorrow behind, perhaps fearfully anticipating what may lie ahead, as we draw in close to the many families who have also lost a member, or those who have endured challenging years, perhaps the one thing I will ask of each reader is to show grace: unmerited, undeserved kindness. I understand from personal experience how demoralising and undermining it can be when there is no grace, especially to the vulnerable, or those beset by hardship and strife.

Remember that we are fallen, we make mistakes, we do wrong, we are misunderstood and we misunderstand, we are each imperfect. Please, if there’s anything you take from the way Ned lived his life, if there’s anything that his cheeky smile reminds you of, let it be to always give others the benefit of the doubt.

Please, whatever background and beliefs you have, just show grace.

“Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and

find grace to help in time of need.”

- Hebrews 4:16

Edward Isham