Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Growing Up In Heaven


Momma started reading a book earlier this week titled, "Growing Up In Heaven" by James Van Praagh.  While Momma has always been a bit of a skeptic when it comes to so-called spiritual conduits, this man has a deeper message and understanding of the grief of bereaved parents than any other author, expert or individual I've experienced in the last 2 years, 1 month and 4 days.  (But, who's counting, right?)  By Chapter Three, Momma knew this book was going to be impactful.  Positive. Affirming.

The author asserts that during our time on earth we are merely vessels.  Human bodies carrying out a higher purpose during the evolution of an eternal soul.   When that soul's journey is complete, it exits this world.  Sometimes a soul returns to finish some other purpose - for instance helping another soul realize its mission.  But time on earth does not hold any real value.  It is merely a stop on a much larger, longer journey.

Momma gets that.  It resonates.

You always struck Momma as an old soul.  I stand by that.  Momma believes you came back to help other souls...maybe or probably mine.  To teach me to be a Momma and to love without reservation.  To be selfless.  Authentic.  In the wake of your loss Momma has found a sense of peace, assurance, transparency.  I attribute that to you.

I feel your presence constantly.  It's not in the form of goosebumps, flaring lightbulbs or shadowy figures.  It's more of a presence in my heart.  A voice in the back of my head.  A surge of confidence or love in the midst of a trying moment.  Quite simply, in the moments that make me a better person.

The author talks about our children continuing to grow and progress during their time in heaven, which means today you would face Momma as a boy.  A boy right on the cusp of 3 years, 2 months of age.  What should you look like?  What should you be doing?  I wonder....

There is also discussion around what heaven looks like and that it is nothing that resembles the harps, clouds and winged angles we envision.  Again, Momma gets that.  This is reinforced by a dream I had in the weeks right after you passed  This is heaven.

Peanut, I see signs of you on a daily basis.  In the surprising beam of sunshine during Momma's commute this morning that broke through a dense, gray cloud bank.  In the 3:30 am wake-up wail from your little brother - so very much like you.

My amazing son who changed this world, we miss you more than you can imagine.  While life, hope and happiness have found a way to move forward for us, the color, shading, and tone will be forever altered, dampened. What will never change?  How much we love you. How much is that?  To the moon - and back!

- Momma

Connor, playing peek-a-boo after his first haircut.

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