A Letter From Above…

Dear Mom,

I know this is a rough time for you. So I will be as gentle as I can be. First of all, thank you for so many tears, particularly those shared with another that you love. They are a gift to me, a precious tribute to your investment in me. As you do your mourning, do it at your pace only. Don’t let anybody suggest that you do your grief work on their timetable. Do whatever it takes to face directly the reality of what has happened, even though you may need to pause frequently and yearn for my return. Do this with courage and my blessings.

Know that sometimes inertia is the only movement possible. Give your best to keeping a balance between remembering me and renewing your commitments to life. It’s O.K. with me if you go through minutes, hours and even days not thinking about me. I know that you’ll never forget. Loosening me and grabbing hold of a new meaning is a delicate art. I’m not sure if one comes before the other or not, maybe it’s a combination.

Be with people who accept you as you are. Mention my name out loud, and if they don’t make a hasty retreat, they’re probably excellent candidates for friendship. If, by a remote possibility, you think that there is anything that you could have done for me and didn’t, I forgive you, as my Lord does. Resentment does not abide here, only love. You know how people sometimes ask you how many children you have? Well, I’m still yours and you are still my parents. Always acknowledge that with tenderness, unless to do so would fall on insensitive ears or would be painful to you. I know how you feel inside. To be included as your child honors me. Read, even though your tears anoint the page. There is an immense library here and I have a card. In Henri Nowens’ “Out of Solitude”, he writes, “The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair and confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not healing, and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.” Mom and Dad, I don’t know where you are spiritually now, but rest assured that our God is not gone. The still small voice you hear in your heart is His voice. The warmth that sometimes enfolds you is Him. The tears that tremble just beneath your heartbeat is Him. He is in you, as I am. I want youto know that I am O.K. I have sent you messages to ease your pain, they come in the form of flowers that bloom out of season, birds singing, voices and visions and sometimes through your friends and even strangers who volunteer as angels. Stay open but don’t expect the overly dramatic. You will get what you need and it may be simply an internal peace. You are not crazy, you have been comforted. Please seek out people bereaved longer than you. They are tellers of truth, and if they have done their work, are an inspiration and a beacon of hope whose pain lessened dramatically. And one more wisdom before I close. There are still funny happenings in our world. It delights me to no end when I hear your spontaneous, uncontrolled laughter. That, too, will come in due time. Today, I light a candle for you. Joined with your candle, let their light shine above the darkness

Affectionately,

Your Angel Child