My sweet girl,
It’s been over three weeks since I’ve heard your voice. I remember your precious voice in our last phone conversation, where you called me at 1:00 am to bring you homemade sweet tea, a true southern belle until the very end. I didn’t know that was the last time you would call me. I re-read our last text conversations and scroll through pictures and videos of you on my phone. I replay the last conversations with you over and over again in my head, trying to remember everything we said to each other, counting how many times I said that I loved you and how proud I was of you, and wishing I could tell you so much more. Our last moments together were too short. I hope you truly knew how much your daddy and I loved you. We did everything we knew to keep you here with us, to help you fight the hardest battle I’ve seen anyone ever have to fight. I ask myself if we could’ve done anything else, anything more. But, I come up with the same answer: We did everything. It’s simply not right and not fair. I get angry when I think about all the enemy has stolen from you and us.
I truly believed that you were the one who make it through this. There are definitely a million thoughts and questions that continue to go through my mind on a daily basis, and emotions that are all over the place in regards to “why.” Even though I know there are no answers, the questions and confusion keep rising up. I believed God would heal you here on earth. I saw His hand pulling you through so many obstacles that even amazed the doctors. “Resilient” is the word that was used to describe you. Each time you were faced with yet another issue, you came through it.
I miss you terribly. There isn’t a day, an hour, that goes by that I don’t think about you. The weight on my chest seems unbearable at times. It hurts so bad. I cry every day and in the moments I’m not crying, I feel guilty … guilty that I’m doing everyday stuff, guilty that I’m living, guilty for any moments I’m not thinking about you. What I wouldn’t give to snuggle with you in the bed again, to hold your hand, to have another conversation, to just be next to you.
The hole you’ve left in our lives is enormous. From the time you came into our lives, we were changed for the better. I think about how we were inseparable when you were a baby. You would cry for hours when I wasn’t around. At the time, it exhausted me. But, now I cherish the moments when I bounced you up and down on my hip, rocked you, napped with you, held you. You finally gained your independence and you were a force to be reckoned with always. I love that about you. Even these last years, you stood up for yourself regarding your care. The strength you showed was incredible, physically and mentally.
I worry about your daddy and your sister. I don’t want them to hurt. I want them to be okay, just like I always wanted you to be. They loved you so much. Our family is not the same without you, but we are still a family. We look different without you.
So, how do we go on? That’s been the question of each day. How do we move on? Moving on doesn’t even seem like an option. It seems impossible. My prayer each day has been simple: “Jesus, help me.”
I know that you’re up in Heaven, worshiping God in all His glory. I try to think about what it was like when you took that last breath and finally saw Jesus. I imagine you running into His arms, safe and sound.
I know that you will never read this letter. But, I needed to write it.
I love you, sweet girl. The fact that God chose me to be your mama has been an honor and a blessing. I know that you would be sad that we are sad right now. You hated what all this did to us and would always apologize for stuff that was never your fault. I can hear you apologizing now, just like you would apologize to the doctors when you would code and they would have to do extra work. Even that showed your heart. You always worried about everyone else. You cared and loved everyone. And, you were loved by so many.
Attempting to close out this letter crushes me, so I won’t.
I can’t wait to see you again.