We have a tradition in our family that each Christmas our kids get letters from us in their stockings. We decided to write letters to Sarah for her memorial service to keep in line with the tradition.
My dear Sarah,
In the years to come, I will be sharing your story with many people:
It began with a surprise. We weren’t supposed to able to have any more kids and yet here you were - a tiny gift in a wonderful package. Both me and your mom were so excited to meet you! You gave your mom some trouble – kicking, swimming, and diving around – but I don’t think she really minded. I was excited to have a little girl in the house, and was dreaming of all of the things I could build for you and stories we’d read together. Your brothers adored you, especially Gabe. He loved singing songs and drawing pictures for you. Gabe had quizzed all of the girls in his class and based on his research informed me that pink was the best color for you.
Things changed with a single phone call when I was on a walk with these brothers who love you so much. Your mom fought hard for two weeks to keep you inside. Yet, you kept coming. When you were born you cried, something unusual a girl of your age. We felt that things weren’t good, but you were a fighter and would marshal on.
During this time, I started making a list of stories to share at your wedding, fulfilling my duties as dad to embarrass you. Including how you’d kick mommy in the wrong spots or giving us a false alarm on day two which turned out to be shadow on the x-ray. You were incredibly feisty; vigorously kicking me if I didn’t touch you just right. But you would settle in when I’d cup your head with my hand or squeeze my finger with your hand. We would read stories to you, pray over you, and sing. One time, you looked like you were trying to turn your head and open your eyes while I sang to you. I felt like we had a rough road, but we would walk it together.
However, things did not go well and we have to part ways for now. I wish that I had the strength to make you better, but I don’t. I could not be the hero who saved the day. Seeing the limits of my abilities as father has been heartbreaking.
The last thing I remember before you passed was seeing you smile. You looked so happy to be wrapped in your mom’s arms as we sang softly to you, sang you softly to sleep.
I did not expect this twist in your story. I did not expect to be writing this letter to you. I wanted to see you grow up to be a princess or a tomboy, a jock or a nerd. I know that you would have been stubborn and smart, and never afraid to speak your mind. I wanted to see your eyes – would they be hazel like mine, green like your mother’s, or blue like Gabe’s? I wanted to take you to the movies, go on hiking trips, chase the wrong boys away, and give you away on your wedding day. Most of all I wanted you to know and love God. And with great reluctance, I have to turn the last page of this chapter.
However, this is not the end of the story. I know that I will see you running and laughing in the streets of Heaven. I will see the color of your eyes and know the thoughts of your heart. I will throw my arms around you and tell you how much I love you.
I look forward to seeing you again.
Dearest Sarah,
We’ve been excited from the moment we found out you were in me. You were a surprise and we couldn’t stop jumping up and down and laughing with excitement. I felt you moving early on when you were only nine weeks along and I enjoyed every squirmy wiggle and later on your kicks. You were very, very active and stubborn, always moving away from monitors and later expressing dislike of certain positions or when we touched your feet. So many nurses, both before and after you were born, called you “feisty”--you would have fit in well with your brothers.
We started preparing for you right away and I was dreaming and looking forward to being your mom and doing so many things with you: snuggling you close, dancing around the house, seeing you giggle with your brothers, watching you splash in the tub, taking you to the beach, teaching you, encouraging you to try new things, shopping together, going out to eat and talk, teaching you about true love and how to look for a guy as wonderful as your Daddy, rejoicing with you at celebrations like birthdays, faith milestones, your wedding and births of your children. But it wasn’t meant to be. And the sorrow I feel is because of my dreams that are lost.
Most importantly your dad and I wanted to introduce you to Jesus and teach you about Him. Thank you for holding on for nine days so we could meet you, hold you, and tell you stories about your family and Jesus. I enjoyed reading the Bible and singing songs with you especially those last few weeks in the hospital. Holding you and singing you to sleep, knowing you would wake up in Heaven seeing Jesus, was a sad but beautiful moment for me. We know you are with Him now and, while we miss you deeply, we know we will see you again. Like I told you on your last day, expect a hug from us for half of eternity. Then, could you show us the most fun spots in Heaven? Your brothers want to go exploring with you.
In your short life, I learned some things from you that will change how I live: I will love more deeply, enjoy the moment more, and celebrate life more. Know that we love you and will never forget you.
love you forever,
Mommy
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