It’s me. Your mom.
37. That’s how far along I would be if you were still here. 37 weeks today. Full term! You could have safely come at any time and likely been perfectly healthy. Wouldn’t it be neat to be a St. Patty’s day baby?
Instead, you’re celebrating 11 weeks and one day in Heaven.
Heaven. Of course it’s a good place to be. No pain. No heartache. No tears (unless they are happy). Praising God in person. Hanging out with your Great Grandpa Rosey. You know, you’re named after him. That’s why your name is so special. Joanna after your maternal grandma, who is one of the most amazing and strong women I know, and my grandpa, with whom I shared a birthday, plus the Rosenthal eyes and chin! You had the same chin, and I bet your eyes would have been blue too.
Though I know you’re in Heaven, I still wish you were with me. We would snuggle before bedtime and I would sing to you a special lullaby. Your special lullaby. We would take your big “brother” Heinz for walks around the neighborhood now that the weather is nice. Yes, there were so many things we were going to do with you just in those first few months. Weddings. Parties. Picnics. You would have loved everyone. They already loved you.
Yesterday I sat in my car soaking in the sun, for both of us. It feels warm and revitalizing after a long winter, a sad winter. Soon it will bring the grass and flowers and trees back to life! But you will not be here to experience it with me. I listen to the birds for both of us, too. They sing so sweetly in the afternoons and I think you would have liked hearing them chirp and chatter.
I know, deep down, that there are better things to feel and hear in Heaven. I know you’re happy there. But I just hope you know how much you are missed. I hope you know that at every wedding, party and picnic I will think of you, and how we are not together. Just as I think of you every day, all day.
Sweet girl, I love you.