DEAR MAMA

 

May 21, 2022
3 weeks. 3 weeks since we held Brighton for the first time. It seems like a lifetime ago and like yesterday, all at once. I was looking through pictures like I do every day of Brighton’s birthday, and noticed the time stamp on the first picture of Lassen looking at his new brother. 9:11. Another sweet reminder that God is wrapping Himself around Brighton and our family’s story. All the hard parts and the good. I ran this morning out towards the new house as a huge storm front was coming in. It was windy and wild and I just know Brighton is on the best adventure he could ever go on. Miss you sweet boy.

Psalm 91:14-15
“Because he loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name. He will call on me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him.”

I read this beautiful blog titled “A Letter From Your Baby in Heaven.” So perfectly expressing what I am feeling. I changed it a little to make it more personal.

Dear Mama,
I know you miss me and wish you could watch me grow up. But instead, you sit in that rocking chair, tears streaming down your face, arms wrapped around the blanket that was supposed to be mine.

I see you crying, Mama, wishing you could hold me. Wishing you could look into my eyes. Wishing you could hear me cry or call you “Mama.”

I want you to know Jesus rocks me to sleep every night and while He does it, He tells me all about you. I know you love sunrises and sunsets and clouds and stars. I know you love to run and explore and feel alive while doing so. I know you wear my initials on your necklace. I know you became aware of my presence on September 11, 2021 in the Smokies, your favorite place made even sweeter, more special. I know you think about me every single day. And I know you couldn’t love me more than you already do.

You wonder what I would look like if I were down there with you. Well, I can tell you that I’ve got your blue eyes and Daddy’s nose. My hair is thicker than my thighs and my chubby fingers complement my round cheeks.

I wish I could tell you what it sounds like when I cry, but I’ve never cried up here, Mama. Because this place, well, it’s Heaven. And even though you can’t hear me, I still call you “Mama.”

I have lots of friends who are missed by their mamas too. I wish you could meet them- their mamas, that is. I bet you would like them as much as I like my friends. You could talk about us, your babies in Heaven, and cry together. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel so alone.

When you are missing me, remember my heartbeat, Mama. It beat because of you. And it beat for you. And when you are sad because you can no longer hear it, I want you to imagine it beating to the rhythm of angels singing. Because that’s what it does now. It beats right along with the songs of the angels, and it’s really beautiful, Mama.

I’ve always felt your arms around me, Mama. I have always felt your love.

I felt it as I grew in the sacred space of your womb. And I felt it when your heart shattered after the nurse told you that I wouldn’t survive outside of you.

And I feel it now. When you say my name. When your gaze turns towards the sky, your eyes searching for a sign that I’m up here. That I’m safe. That I’m loved.

And I feel it when you send me balloons every year on my birthday. I want you to know that I’ve kept every single one because they don’t deflate up here. They’ve been filled with your love and we both know that will never run out.

I see you cry for me, Mama, and I understand why. You miss me because you love me so much. But I want you to smile for me too, Mama, because I’m really, really happy up here.

I want you to know my life is perfect up here, Mama. And one day, yours will be perfect too. Because someday you’ll be up here with me, Mama. I can’t wait for you to meet Jesus. I can’t wait for you to see how good my life has been. And I can’t wait to see the smiles on your face when you finally hear me call you “Mama.”

Love,
Brighton