A Letter From My Daughter

This year for my dad's 60th (!!!) birthday, my mom wanted to do something special to celebrate him. My dad is very introverted and reserved, so I suggested that we contact his friends and family around the country and have them write a letter to him. We told them that they could share a memory, what they felt about him, how much he meant to them...whatever they wanted. 

I received the letters in my mailbox and e-mail inbox and was so touched by the kind and loving words everyone had for such an amazing man. I was also really awakened by the fact that most people don't get to hear these types of things at all, because they only spoken at funerals. It really brought home the point that we need to tell people how we feel about them when they are still here.

It also reminded me that I will never get to hear what my daughter feels about me.

I guess that's not entirely true. I will get to ask her when I get to Heaven. But what if neither of us remembers? And how does that help me now? In this life, right now, today, I have unanswered questions and guilt and anger and pain that I wish she could address to tell me that everything is okay. 

This is, in my wildest and most perfect fantasy, what I would want to hear from her.

Dear Mommy,

I know you are feeling so much pain at losing me so early, but I want you to know how happy I am here with God. You would have been the best, most amazing mother, but growing up in Heaven is AWESOME! I have so many wonderful friends and family taking care of me (your grandpas say 'hi!') and I even have a sweet little dog named Spunky to play with. 

As a matter of fact, Mommy, you are also here. Time doesn't exist in Heaven, so everybody is already here. I know it isn't much of a consolation now, but pretty soon, you won't remember any of the pain. I promise. But since the other part of you still has to live life first, I need to share a few things with you.

First, you don't have to be sorry. Even though your genes were instrumental in creating my sick and broken body, they also made a unique and individual me. If you had had a healthy baby, he/she wouldn't have been me. And I love me, Mommy. (I know you love me too.) You don't have to be sorry about not spending every moment by my side. You didn't know what would happen. You thought I would get better. You thought you would have years with me, or at least months. I love your hope in me! You were recovering, too, and needed to lie down and rest a lot. And you were there with me non-stop for 7 months. We spent so much time together.

Second, I knew you were there. No, I didn't have ear canals and couldn't hear you. I know you feel a lot of guilt at not touching me more and that you worry I felt alone. But I never felt alone; I knew you were there. I may not have been able to sense sounds, but I was able to feel love. And there was more love in that room (and in those 4 days) than I even knew what to do with! 

Third, I am sending you signs. Those two hummingbirds you saw in the backyard? Those were from me. The butterfly that hung around that tree for a month? I sent it. That woodpecker you saw at my cemetery that make you and Aunt Teri laugh every time you think about it? I knew it would make you laugh, and I wanted you to see my silly side! Look out for more signs, Mommy, because I'm not done.

Lastly, it's okay to have another baby when you're ready. I won't be jealous. I know you won't love them more than me. It will make you happy, and I want you and Daddy to be happy. In fact, I've already picked some out especially for you and I'm so excited for you to meet them! I don't yet know how they will get to you, but just know that, when they do, those babies are gifts from me. 

For you, it has been a year since I passed, and I can see you are starting to heal more each day. And you know what "healing" is. You know that it isn't forgetting what happened, but living with it. You know that healing from a trauma means there will be scars. And scars are simply proof that you are stronger than whatever tried to hurt you. You were going to say that to me if I had lived long enough to be ashamed of my scars. Now I can tell you.

You are proud of me, and proud to be my mom, and I am proud of you, too. 

I love you,

Ava