To My Mom on the Day She Left for Heaven:
Today, you caught an early flight to Heaven and slipped away without a goodbye. I wasn’t ready for today to be the day. Truthfully, I didn’t want any day to ever be the day. My heart kept hoping for more time, one more moment, one more chance to say everything I didn’t get to say.
I hope you weren’t scared this morning when you left. I hope you were surrounded by kind souls who offered you hugs and whispered that they were Heaven-bound too, guiding you gently on your way.
I was scared when you left today. I was wrapped in hugs, with everyone telling me how you finally made it home, and while part of me was happy for you, the bigger part just missed you. I needed you here to look at me and tell me it was all going to be okay—because you’re the only one who ever could make it feel that way.
I can only imagine what your view looked like and how it must have felt to finally be free. Free from cancer. Free from pain. To feel good again for the first time in so long, with the heavy weight of sickness lifted from your body and your spirit able to rest.
My view down here looked different today too. I found myself searching the sky, wondering which way you went to reach Heaven, wondering if you were still just beyond the clouds. I kept my eyes lifted all day, hoping—almost expecting—to catch a glimpse of you somewhere above me.
I hope you were greeted by family and old friends you’ve missed for so long. I imagine those hugs felt incredible, especially from the ones you had been longing to see for so many years.
Down here, I’m already missing your hugs. Today, when you left, was when I needed one the most. No one else’s hug compares. Yours is the one I’ll be longing for, for a long time.
I hope you’re settling into your new home, and as much as it hurts to say, I hope you’re making beautiful memories there. Almost all of my memories since the day I was born include you and me, and now that you’re gone, those memories are what I’ll cling to and treasure.
I just wish I could call you—just once—to ask if you made it there safely, and even more, to tell you that I’m okay so you won’t worry about me.
They say you can’t take anything with you when you go, but I want you to know this: today, when you left for Heaven, you took a piece of my heart with you—and you left a piece of yourself here with me forever.
