This morning we went to visit you, and hung a set of pink butterfly wind chimes with your flowers. Mother's Day is a day I like to celebrate the fact that I'm still your mom, and will always be your mom.
That means I still worry about you, even though you’ve been gone for almost eight years. People say you’re in a much better place now, where there's no sickness or pain, a glorious place where everything and everyone is beautiful and perfect, and you’re happier than you could ever be here.
I took the idea of that place for granted until you went there, at which point my faith was sorely tested. Suddenly I viewed Heaven the way I might a preschool or summer camp. How could I be certain it was all right to leave my child in a place like this? Had it been thoroughly inspected and licensed by the state?
Only a mom would fuss over that, and I'm still your mom.
In the hours immediately following your departure, I agonized over what might be happening to your soul, your spirit. I worried that you were confused and frightened about where you were and what was happening to you.
I asked the craziest questions that no one could answer to my satisfaction: Did they get Cartoon Network in Heaven, so you could watch Powerpuff Girls and Sailor Moon? Would you have enough paper and crayons to indulge your love of drawing pictures? Did St. Peter know that Wednesday was always pizza night? Could I count on him to remember to always hold the pepperoni on yours?
Nutty as it seems, these were the things that drove me—well, nuts. I never fretted this way when my brother, grandparents, or mother died. Only with you, Fiona. Because I'm still your mom, while you're always and forever my girl.
Over time, among the pieces of my broken heart I've found a tiny fragment that assures me you're safe in a wonderful place that runs Powerpuff Girls and Sailor Moon marathons 24/7; a marvelous place where every night is pizza night, and crayons come in the most amazing spectrum of colors that no one on earth can imagine. A place that's Heaven to Fiona.
I'm the one who was confused and frightened. Yet I'll never stop worrying, because I'm still your mom.
At least I know if St. Peter forgets to hold that pepperoni, you’ll give him holy hell for it.
That's my girl!
We love you, Bunny Buttons!