She couldn’t speak, yet her life spoke to so many.
317 days she was on this earth. She couldn’t speak . . . only one word she said before she passed. One precious word: “Mama.”
I can still hear it clear as day.
I remember the moment she was born.
I looked at her daddy with tear-streaked cheeks, shaking as I heard her cry. The nurse said, “You have a baby girl!” and I was in such awe. I looked at her daddy whispering, “We have a baby girl.” I was in complete adoration. From her dainty little fingers to her delicate features.
I remember the nap times. The ones where she would snuggle right up on my arm. She felt safe, and I felt so in love. I investigated those big, beautiful blue eyes, and I would smile with a joy I could never express.
It used to keep me awake at night—I would cry, I would pray, and I would seek where the purpose was. You get every single day with your child. You know them intuitively. You know them intricately. I knew my daughter. I knew how incredible she was. I knew that God created her, but yet . . . He took her.
Where was the purpose?
The purpose was in those 317 days that we got to love her.
The purpose was that we learned she was our gift. A gift is not something that we own, a gift is something given—Sarah was our gift. God gave her to us for a time, and with a gentle hand, He took her. He took her with Him to heaven, and He left us here with a story to tell. He left us here with her legacy to share.
We have a beautiful family picture I got made up the summer before Sarah passed. It is hung by the door so you can see it before you leave. I did that on purpose. Every time I leave, I get to see her big smile, but I always watch others look up and study it. People that know our story and people that don’t. I often wonder what people think. Sometimes it leads to a story for those who don’t. I get an opportunity to share the love and joy behind that beautiful smile and the faith we have.
I know so many and have heard so many stories of how Sarah’s story has touched them. The most touched being our own. My dad was the first person I called when I found out Sarah had passed. Weeks later, He said to me, “I didn’t realize how strong my faith was until we lost Sarah.”
Sarah’s life was one of hope—hope in today and hope in heaven.
Hope in Jesus and hope that we will see our sweet girl again. Sarah’s life holds more purpose than I believe I will see this side of heaven, and I believe it is our joy to share that hope with others.
When I said goodbye to my beautiful daughter, I kissed her on the forehead, and with tears in my eyes, told her this isn’t the end. This isn’t goodbye. I told her to enjoy Jesus and heaven, and all the beautiful things. That one day, I would too.
Our hope is not in vain, our hope is eternal.
You see my sweet girl, you couldn’t talk but your life spoke to many . . . all 317 days of it.