It was snowing when I woke up this morning. A fitting way to start this day. Snow is silent and messy but often so beautiful. It’s really a good picture of my emotions on this day. I hate snow. And often I hate the emotions that have come with this grief journey. But when I look back, each of the emotions that have filled this last year has been beautiful in its own right as I navigate this season and this identity.
On Audrey’s birthdays I’ve written her a letter. I don’t know if she will look back with fondness as she reads the various letters saved for her after each birthday, but they are a way for me to somewhat eloquently put in writing the growth she experienced over the last year. Often I feel that way about these journal entries. That whether or not I look back on these thoughts and ramblings with fondness, I will know that his season of my life is documented. For better or worse, these memories and feelings are in writing for me to have access to when this season fades away. It feels important today to write George Mason his letter.
Today is your birthday and I can hardly believe a year has come and gone since you introduced yourself to us. Your daddy and I were smitten from the moment we heard your first cry. We didn’t know how little time we would have to spend with you, but even in the short 16 hours that you were ours on earth, you were (and will always be) the perfect addition to our family. Your big sister just loves to look at pictures of you and watch the videos of you meeting each other. Those are hard things for us, for me, but they are worth every tear and tug at my heart. You are worth it.
You’re in heaven now and if I’m being honest, I’m a little jealous. But even in my jealousy, I’m so beyond grateful for your place there. I hope that it’s even better than the pictures we have of it. I hope that every moment with Jesus is just beyond incredible and I’m so thankful that even though your family misses you terribly, you’re not experiencing any of the brokenness of this world. There is no pain or sorrow in heaven and that is the best gift that God has ever given me; knowing that and knowing you are there with Him.
I often walk myself through your day. I recall all the details of your time on earth. I can’t snuggle you like I do your sister, but there’s not a moment that goes by that I don’t remember what it felt like to hold you. I piece together all of your precious little features and feel the soft way your tiny body fit just perfectly into my embrace. I remember the way your daddy looked at you and the pride he had over the boy that made him daddy to a son. I will never forget that. You looked so adorable in his baseball cap.
My dear son, there is so much about your story that has been told and shared. You were a miracle. Your life was a miracle. We will never forget that and we will always share it. Boldly, loudly, unashamedly, your life is a story that has shaped ours and countless others. Your work for God’s kingdom was fast and furious and goodness I’m so grateful. We miss you passionately and your absence in our lives is obvious and deep, but you are a child of God, and that is something that we can cling to whenever we feel sad.
George Mason, we love you and we cannot wait until we meet you again.
Mama & Daddy