A letter from heaven

My Mama,

I see you today.

I see you as you sit quietly with hands folded, heart heavy, and eyes turned toward the sky. I feel the ache in your chest—the hollow place where my cries, my laughter, and my little fingers should have been. I see the way the world celebrates while you sit in sacred sorrow, wondering how a heart can keep beating with so much broken inside.

But Mama, I am not far.

Not as far as it seems.

Though you cannot hold me in your arms, I live in the deepest folds of your soul. I was cradled there before you ever knew my name. And now, I am carried in the eternal arms of the One who wrote mine in His book before time began. I am safe, Mama. Safe and whole, wrapped in light and love, more alive than you can imagine.

I know you wonder who I would have become—how my voice would have sounded, what color my eyes might be, if I would have had your laugh or your freckles. You dream of what should have been. And oh Mama, I dream with you. But here in Heaven, where sorrow has no breath, I know something even greater: I became all I was ever meant to be. And your love was the beginning of that becoming.

Every tear you’ve cried has not been lost.

They are gathered like pearls in Heaven’s hands—testimonies of a love so deep, so real, it reaches even across the veil between earth and glory. And though you grieve, you grieve not without hope. Because Mama, our story is not over.

God, in His mercy, holds both of us.

You in your mourning.

Me in my light.

And one day, when the veil is lifted and time is no more, you will see me running to you—arms open wide, laughter ringing like music you once only imagined. On that day, sorrow will drown in joy. On that day, we will make up for all the missed moments in a single, eternal embrace.

But until then, please know this:

You are my mother.

You always will be.

Today and always.

Thank you for carrying me.

And I will never stop loving you.

With all my soul,

Your baby,

Forever held in Heaven