Love Letter to Abigail

by - 11:21 PM

Today we were asked about what our passions are and today to write a love letter to our angel. I'm not sure what if any passions I have.  I deeply love the Church and my family, but I'm not sure what I'm really passionate about.  There are things I like to do, but I don't know about passionate.  A love letter, well I can always write one of those.



Dear Abigail,

You are a big sister now.  Her name is Katherine Hope.  She has really big bright eyes, and watches everything like a hawk, reminds me of how observant Britt was at this age.  She has a happy and joyful personality.  Ruth things that is just like her.  She's so beautiful, Rebecca says, "She's cuter than me" and it doesn't bother her a bit. Even though she looks mostly like Ruth and your Daddy.  There are times when I almost see a little of me and Rebecca in her.  She's rubbed almost all of her baby hair off this week.  She was already losing it, but it's so thin now.  The new stuff sometimes looks red in the light, it's not red, but perhaps it will have some red highlights to it.  I like to think that in that, she looks like you and me.  When babies are born, everyone in the family is eager to find bits of themselves in them, as they grow they look for the best of themselves in the child.  I sometimes find myself looking for glimpses of you in her.  Though it's impossible to know...

I miss you every day.  I miss you when it's still and quiet.  I miss you in the bustle of our daily life.  Yesterday I found myself in the store with five children, we had a friend along for the trip.  All I could think is that this should be normal.  I didn't mind it one bit, for a bit I could pretend you were here.  It's still hard to see your absence everywhere.  Britt said you could have been Birdo or Yoshi for Halloween, since everyone else is going with the Mario theme.  I have 3 identical dresses hanging in my bathroom for Christmas, two very close in size, with one much smaller, the size that should fit between them is still back in the store.  When I line them up, there is a stair step missing.

It's not that I begrudge you Heaven.  I know it's a wondrously marvelous place.  I know you are your best self, in a way you could have never been here.  I know that you are happy beyond measure.  It's just that I have never felt the eternal longing and depth of emptiness that I feel for you.  I sometimes read the writings of a loss father, a man with deep faith.  Today he described it is a role unrealized.  And that really resounded with me.  It doesn't matter that it's totally ridiculous to want you here with me, I have a great and unrealized desire to be your mother - to do more, to actually get to mother you.  I can bring along your bunny, and decorate your stone, and dust your memory box.  I can year after year write these post hoping some how someone out there will be impacted in a way that has a lasting impact.  But I can't mother you, just guard your memory, and tell others you were here and that you do matter.

I wish I could see you with your little sister.  Wish I could let you have a turn picking out the day's onesie.  Wish I could hear you beg to hold her, and 4.3 seconds later tell me you are done because she's too heavy and squirms too much.  Wish I could watch you discover the world, and beg for school books and complain about chores.  Wish I could watch you sit in your Daddy's lap watching baseball games, sucking your thumb, dragging around a well worn bunny.  I wish I could tell you how much you are loved and missed.  It's a good thing that I don't write too many of these letters to you, they always make me cry, but they say that tears are the language of grief, and great grief is the price we pay for great love.  And oh we do love you, and we all look forward to seeing you again one day.

Love,
Momma

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