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 tulips are your favorite flower and that every spring you fill the house with fresh ones because they remind you of me. I know you wear my birthstone on your finger since I’m not there to hold your hand. I know you became aware of my presence one warm October day, and that it made your favorite season of the year taste sweeter, smell lovelier. 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 eyes and Daddy’s nose. My hair is thicker than my thighs and my chubby fingers complement my chunky 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 never felt your arms around me, Mama, but 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 doctors told you that I wouldn’t grow for much longer.

And I feel it now. When you say my name. When your gaze turns toward 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 smile on your face when you finally hear me call you “Mama”.

Love,
Your baby in Heaven

 

Originally published on A Beautifully Burdened Life by Jenny Albers

 

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Jenny Albers

Jenny Albers is a wife, mother, and writer.  She is the author of Courageously Expecting, a book that empathizes with and empowers women who are pregnant after loss. You can find Jenny on her blog, where she writes about pregnancy loss, motherhood, and faith. She never pretends to know it all, but rather seeks to encourage others with real (and not always pretty) stories of the hard, heart, and humorous parts of life. She's a work in progress, and while never all-knowing, she's (by the grace of God) always growing. When she's not typing words, she can be found wrangling a fiery little boy and nurturing a quickly growing girl. She's a tea-addicted, jewelry-loving, cat-obsessed, Jesus-following, introverted midwestern girl who is thrilled to connect with you from the other side of the screen. You can follow her on Facebook and Instagram.