Letter to Our Baby in Heaven A few months ago I walked along the coastline & found a tiny shell, shaped just like the hand of an unborn baby. The moment I picked it up (your hand in mine), I realized that this was the week of your 28th birthday. Except that it wasn’t, because you left us before we could ever hold you & care for you. Your birthday was your heavenly home-going day. But for the short time you were with us – which we blithely assumed would meld into months as you readied for this world – we loved you & knew you as our own. We sang & talked to you daily & welcomed your joyous presence into our lives. We tried to imagine you & all you would become. And then...we lost you. You came & went, & broke & mended our hearts all at once. For as much as we miss you & wonder who you would have been on earth, you are our forever baby, our eternal child. You are an enduring, unchanging soul – totally young & fully completed. You anchor us to eternity even now, just as you did then, when, adrift in our heartache, my husband & I mourned your loss & gave each other grace as we navigated grieving differently. You are the embodiment of the deepest joy & greatest pain, connecting me in a collective tornado of grief to a million other mothers whose children have left them too early. As I hold this perfect shell, I am sure of why you came and left: in entering our lives & silently leaving, you were doing God’s work. Your every moment was counted, your every heartbeat recorded, your life forever written into ours. Through the suffering of your departure, we have come to know the suffering of many & the celebration of every life, regardless of the length. Without ever drawing a single breath, you taught us about love & trust & letting go. You taught us to not only grudgingly accept but openly embrace God’s plan. That plan is painful at times, oh yes. But there is healing in the pain that brings you to your knees, turns your face upwards & bars bitterness from your heart’s door. And so we know we did not lose you. Though I at times feel lost, I am held by the certainty that you are waiting to welcome us, pointing our way to the Place you already call home.