The Miracle of You

Dear Aaron,

I sit here as the sky darkens, the scent of sagebrush after a summer storm is in the air. My hummingbirds flit around their feeder, chasing each other off. It's 33 weeks today since you left.

Inside, a sister and a few brothers hang out talking. Joseph and Sarah are here from Southern Utah and Matthew and Kensey have flown in from Wisconsin for the weekend. 

We spent the day in the temple today for you. Sweet, tender, and still hard. 

Oh, my beautiful boy. When someone saw your birth date, he remarked, "He was just born in 2010!" That is kinda different; many are people born 100 or more years ago.  Yeah, it wasn't very long ago, not nearly long enough, and he asked about your story. I told him you were the greatest blessing our family ever received. He asked what happened and I explained that your body was fragile, your heart and lungs tattered, and when you got Flu A, it was just too much for you. But it was your time. You held on for so long, probably 22 months longer than we had any right to hope for.

But hope, hope is fragile and yet strong, and hope we did. And pray. And work. And trust. And plead with heaven to spare you. 

The day before you left, a friend gave me a stone heart. The first few weeks after you left, it was in my hand more than anywhere else. It still is always in my pocket. I'm never without it. And today in the baptistry, and the other rooms, it was in my hand again. Somehow it grounds me, connects me, and reminds me of the truths I know. 

I know you still live, just not here.

I know you still love me, and know of my love for you.

I know you are healed and now a perfect reflection of your perfect spirit.

I know I will see you, hold you, speak with you again.

We hear of ministering angels. What I don't know or understand is how we were so blessed to be able to minister to an angel, and now I feel you minister to us. 

What a blessing to be tied to each other.

What a miracle you were, you are. 

I love you, Aaron.

Miss you so much, but love you even more.

Love,
Mama

There can be miracles

When you believe

Though hope is frail, it's hard to kill