In Notes to Heaven

Daniel,

           This Autumn it will have been twelve years since you departed from Earth.   You might think that the memories and the specifics of that day have muddied over time, but they haven't. I can recall them in the sharp visceral detail in which they occurred.  Although that moment is preserved in time, the bathroom in which you collapsed and died has changed.  The shower curtain is different. It shows ancient ships. I think you would like it. The room has been redecorated somewhat and I plan to paint the room this year.  This leaves me with thoughts of other things I should do.

            You are no longer 12 1/2 as you were at your departure. Twelve years later if you were on Earth you would be 24 years old.  As you know, a couple of times I have paid for an age progression of your photos, and haven't been awfully satisfied as they just don't look like you.  Recently, one of my friends who has a son two years younger than you would be, had a college graduation. His smile and the way he carried himself reminded me so much of you. He looked like you.  I decided that I don't need to get any more photographs age progressed because I would recognize you no matter what age you were.  Most of the time I am joyous about the achievements of your friends and of the young adult children of my own friends, but once in a while, it smarts.

             As you know, your room has been redecorated but we have pretty much kept most of your things, as much as remembrances for family and siblings as much as possible. By watching your DVDs in your room, we recall the moments in which we watched them with you, and somehow we are just that much closer.  I have been thinking lately that a good deal of fairly new and expensive clothing is sitting in your closet. I kept some of it to remember you, and sometimes to open the closet and sniff some of those clothes. As I look through some of the cotton summer shirts I am reminded of times we spent together and places we went and so I had no desire to give them away. I still have a pair of your fairly new Merrell shoes which somehow fit me as well. I have worn them on and off around the house for years, as somehow I have felt closer to you. Either that or I have felt your laughing at me all the way from Heaven.   But it's time. This has been a very difficult year for many families, and some of your things are needed by people who are still tied to Earth and have earthly needs.  And so, I must begin to pass things of yours to people who need or would care for them.  Your nephew already has his eyes on some of your things. Your niece is a little small but I am thinking that it won't be long before she wants some of the things you had. Don't worry. I will keep some remembrances, and I will let you guide me, if you wish.

         I am still doing everything I promised you, the day you were called. I am still doing my best. It is hard sometimes and sometimes I am sad, but the price we pay for loving this much is that when one of us departs, it hurts.  I love you, and I am so proud to be your mom, wherever you are,  be it on Earth or in Heaven.

Happy Twenty-Fourth Birthday, Daniel

                 Sometimes it seems as if I am sprinting through this life. I can remember the day you were born as if it were yesterday. I was actually glad to be in the hospital that day, because we were about to have a third day of nearly one hundred degrees.  This year, it is actually cold for what would have been your birthday. This week, had you remained here on Earth, you would be twenty-four years old.  I can barely imagine what life would be like had you been able to stay.  You would be through college, and either working or you would have started a business as one of your brothers and your father has.  You might have had your own home by now, or you might still have been at the farm with us, while you saved money in order to launch a new business.  You departed this world twelve years ago, which means that later this year, we will pass a day in which you have been gone from this Earth longer than you were actually here on it.  The twelve years you were here are very memorable to me and to the rest of the family and we talk about you all the time.  Your nephew is now five, and although he is not like you at five, he is a little spitfire. He is full of energy, and ideas, and he knows all about you.  He is especially fond of your CD and DVD collection, and I really do try to protect them from becoming sticky.  Sometimes, I think that I should give some of your things to him or to your niece, but I believe I will know when that time arrives, for each item.  I do know that you don't need them, and that you want them to be used and appreciated once again.    You remain a big part of our lives just as you did, when you were here.

           
 

                       By now, all of the animals you knew when you were here have passed and are home with you, except for the alpaca Warrior Princess Camellia (whom we still call Cammie) who is still here. Please let the animals with you know that we love and miss them. There is also a precious girl, named Sable who passed recently from here, that you didn't know, but that you would have loved. Please look after her.  I know she will come to find you and my Dad.     

                      I don't know much about your existence now.  I know that you know something about the happenings here on Earth.  I am grateful that you don't have to endure some of the scarier parts of life here on Earth this year.   Please know that this week, and every week, that you are not just loved by the Lord God, and the relatives and ancestors you have with you, but also by your siblings and your parents who love you and miss you more than you know.

       Remember that you are loved, wider than the oceans and deeper than the seas, always.  No matter what happens on this Earth, love endures all things, the temporal and the non-temporal.