Today is my mom’s first birthday in Heaven.
What an incredibly strange and sad thing to write.
Twice in the past few days, I’ve picked up my phone to text her. Once because something happened that I knew she would want to know about, and once because I had a picture I knew she would want to see.
Both times, I caught myself.
There’s such a sinking feeling in that moment when you remember that you can’t just pick up the phone and call your mom anymore.
Last winter, Don created a show for the Clear Brook Indoor Percussion ensemble based on the idea of a “wind phone.” If you’ve never heard of one, Google “CBS Sunday Morning wind phone.” It’s an incredible story.
A wind phone isn’t actually connected to anything. It simply gives people who are grieving a place to pick up a phone and talk to someone they’ve lost.
I’ve realized that my wind phone has become my car.
When I’m driving and thinking about Mom, I just start talking to her as though I’ve called her on the phone. Mostly, I tell her about the kids. I tell her what’s happening with me. I tell her the things I know she would want to know.
And I tell her that I’m going to be okay.
That we’re all going to be okay.
That we miss her.
So today, I’ll get in my car and say, “Happy Birthday, Mom!” I’ll probably ask her what kind of cake she’s having at her party.
And I’m quite certain Pappaw was the first one to sing “Happy Birthday” to her. He always called us on our birthdays and immediately launched into the song before we could even say hello. I can’t imagine that Heaven would be any different.
Grief is such a strange thing. Your head understands what has happened, but your heart still reaches for the phone.
And while my heart aches because I don’t get to celebrate this birthday with you, it also knows something else.
This truly is your best birthday ever.
No cancer. No pain. No sick body. Fully healed and whole, celebrating at the feet of Jesus.
I can’t think of a more perfect birthday gift than that.
Happy Heavenly Birthday, Mom.
I love you. I miss you. And I’ll keep talking to you on my drives.
