Letters To Heaven: My Son, Patrick Michael

"It's a good thing to have all the props pulled out from under us occasionally. It gives us some sense of what is rock under our feet, and what is sand." --Madeline L'Engle

Dear Patrick,

When your sisters were growing up, I was ferociously protective of them. Often, when your Daddy deployed, I didn't sleep at night because I was afraid something would happen and I wouldn't wake up to hear. Part of the reason I was so protective of them was because I spent much of my own childhood afraid of what many of the adults in my life would do to me next. And part of my fierce protection was my own innate maternal instincts. I'm pretty sure when I was born I got a triple dose of those. Heaven knows they spilled out over your sisters and onto all of my students...that desire, that need to shelter all of them a living thing inside of me that is sometimes overbearing! For the rest of my days I will always feel as if I failed you, failed to protect you from my own body that refused to carry you to term.

I'd gladly have traded my life for yours, my son, so you could have experienced the magic and joys this world has to offer; the light of your sisters, who would've spoiled you rotten, and the warmth and patience of your father, who has grown up to be truly one of the best men I will ever know.

I dreamed of you once. I stood in Heaven with God at my side. We were in a Spanish-style house and I could see light spilling in from windows and doors that were all open. The grass was such a vibrant green it almost hurt my eyes to look at it. I could hear the laughter of many people outside that reminded me of the cookouts we used to have at Aunt Mattie's house when I was a child and our lawn would spill over with aunts, uncles and cousins. You came running in the door, covered in dirt and grass stains, to show me some bug you'd caught outside. In my dream you were only about six. You had beautiful blue-green eyes and thick eyelashes like your daddy. You had a sprinkle of freckles over your pointy little nose like your sisters. And you had curly, unkempt golden blonde hair. I couldn't get enough of looking at you. You threw those dirty little arms around my legs and hugged me tight, then took off running back outside! God, how I wanted to call you back, catch you in my arms and never let go, but I didn't. I stood in silence and watched you scamper away. The last thing I remember from the dream was God's deep voice whisper your name, then he squeezed my hand. When I woke, my face and pillow were wet with tears and it was in that moment I truly understood the meaning of the word agony. I ache for you, my little man, and will for the rest of my life. I give you to God now baby. And I pray that someday you'll have your chance. For now, let both your grandma's dote on you, try some of Uncle George's chicken and dumplin's, which are the best in Heaven or on Earth, and try not to completely exasperate the angels.

                                                                    Mama Loves you, Always

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