Waiting Well: A Mom’s Letter After the Death of Her Daughter

Sweet girl, I miss you. It’s hard to believe over 9 years have passed since I last saw your smile, heard your giggle, felt your squeeze wrapped around my neck. 

I think about you. all. the. time. I wonder what you would be like: your interests, your talents, your gifts and abilities. This would be your freshman year of high school. Drive’s ed. growing ever more independent. Would you be interested in boys? Be a gymnast? Still have a deep love for animals?

So many unanswerable questions. Spiraling into despair could be a mere breath away, but, honestly, sweet one? I’m doing okay. I miss you like crazy, but my heart is healing. I enjoy life again and continue to learn that being okay doesn’t take away my love for you. It has, in fact, made it stronger, more pure.

My world nearly stopped when you died. 

I could barely breathe the moment the doctor told me you wouldn’t survive. My brain grasped at the reality that fire snatched you away. All I could handle was one second, one moment, one breath at a time.

The days that followed your death were a blur. Moments melded together like the remnants of our refrigerator. Hard to see, hard to identify, but still there, this thing…unrecognizable yet very real. 

Days became weeks, and then months as reality revealed you weren’t coming back. Yes, I knew that you died but there was something inside, something I can’t explain, that whispered…just maybe. Just maybe I’d come home, and you’d be there. Just maybe you’d be waiting for me, sitting on the stairs, or in my room, or at the table. Just maybe.

But just maybe didn’t happen. I didn’t think it would but that didn’t stop me from the hope that life might be different. That the grave that held your little body would be empty, or even better, never existed, and you’d be home again.

Months have now become years. Time has passed, but it hasn’t been the passing of time that has helped. Time doesn’t have the power to heal. But what I’ve done with that time? That has made all the difference.

I remember you, always

I remember your hugs, and your “I love you’s”. I say your name, tell stories that remind me that you were real, that you are real, and you inspire me every single day. I chose to focus on the good that surrounds me in spite of the horrific reality of your death. I clung to God –His promises, and wrestled with Him, tentatively trusting that what He says in His Word is true. That I would see good, His goodness, here in the land of the living. That His goodness would eventually outweigh the badness of your death, of my life without you.

And it’s happening, really, truly happening. I see it in the way your sister has blossomed into a beautiful young woman, marrying a man who loves her dearly. I see it in the sunsets God paints at night, often wondering if He lets you choose which colors to use. I see it in new relationships I have made, new opportunities to declare God’s truth. I experience His goodness every time I remember you, and a smile takes over as my love for you swells deep within my heart. I see it in a thousand ways that would take hundreds more pages to share.

This has not been an easy journey. Please don’t misunderstand me. I would much rather have you here with me. But I don’t have that choice, do I? The only choice I have is how I live while I wait to see you again. So as I wait. I choose to trust that there is a plan greater than what I can see, that God is doing something, and there will continue to be good. I choose to be believe I have been entrusted with a very special story to share with others. One day it will all make sense, and on that day, I choose to believe your hand will be in mine, and we’ll have eternity together, playing and laughing and loving each other, catching up on this short amount of time that we’ve been apart.