My real mother truly loves me, and I know I’ll see her in heaven with Jesus.
Sweaty and flecked with dirt, I sit on the back porch steps and clutch the letter I’ve just read six times. I weep openly in an unfamiliar mixture of gratitude and grief, wondering why Tiny Tot isn’t here to cry for me. It’s strange, feeling my own emotions. But I welcome it.
With all of my free time since being suspended from work, thankfully with partial pay, I’ve been taking advantage of the opportunity to catch up on the never-ending “to-do” list around the house. This morning as Grace had driven off to her new part-time job, I was already dragging the ladder to the back corner of the house where the gutters had begun to sprout their own forest.
Remarkably, neither Abigail nor Josiah seemed to carry any sort of trauma or anxiety from Abigail’s accident several weeks ago. Grace’s parents had already picked them up this morning for a play day. So until Grace and the kids got home midafternoon, it was just me and my tools.
Isolation can be a friend. Or a foe. Or both at the same time. The Others sometimes bombarded my thoughts the most when things were quiet. Today I decided not to play that game, so as I worked in the rising July heat, I busied my mind thinking about Abigail’s story of meeting Jesus.
Wireless earbuds in, I found a Christian music playlist. Every single song seemed to speak directly to me, either about God hearing my desperate prayer, or about Jesus coming through with nothing other than an absolute miracle. I hadn’t given much thought to Christian music before, other than Sunday mornings at church. Today it spoke more than I ever thought possible.
Gutters cleaned and debris blown away, I hung the ladder back on its pegs in the tool shed as a song about gratitude began to play through my earbuds. Pausing to take in the cloudless summer sky and the crepe myrtle trees in full bloom, I allowed myself to remember the gratefulness that had poured out of me when Abigail started breathing again. Chin tilted skyward, sweaty and dirty from cleaning the gutters, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.
“God,” I said aloud, “I know I said it a lot that day, but thank You. A million times, thank You.”
A tender thought floated in. “There’s a beautiful destiny planned for her, Danny.”
“Destiny? What do you mean, like fate?”
A gentle laugh blended with His answer. “No, not like the world uses that word today. I mean the plans I’ve had for her from the beginning.”
I nodded as the words from the Bible verse about good plans in the book of Jeremiah rolled through my mind.
For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.
“You have your own beautiful destiny too, son.”
I dropped my head. “A destiny to be mentally insane? Doesn’t sound very much like prospering for hope and a future to me.”
His response was tender and patient. “You have so much to learn, Danny.”
My answer was interrupted by the squealing of hydraulic brakes coming from the front of the house. Slipping off my gloves and turning off my earbuds, I made my way around to the front of the house where a delivery truck sat in my driveway. A tall, wiry man in a brown uniform hopped down from his seat and trotted my direction.
“Delivery for Danny Pierce?” he asked, presenting a large envelope to me.
“That’s me, man. Thanks.” I signed his digital clipboard and flipped the envelope around as I headed to the backyard again. My eyes fell on the sender’s address.
Sunset Ridge. Franklin, TN.
Gypsy’s letter.
Time slowed as I fumbled to carefully open the envelope in the late morning breeze. Finally getting the package opened, I took a deep breath as I reached in and pulled out a small stack of lined notebook paper folded in half. As I sat on the back porch steps, Garrison and Kendra came walking toward me.
I waved them away with my hand. “I’m good here. Don’t need you right now.”
Twisting my neck from side to side to get a good crack, I breathed deeply again and unfolded the pages. A grainy, wallet-sized photo of a little boy fell from the pages.
Dear Danny,
I think that’s what they call you. If you got this letter, it means I ain’t on the earth no more. I already got things took care of, so you don’t gotta worry about nothing.
The first thing I wanna say is I love you. I’m sure that’s real hard to believe since I was only your mom for about four years and didn’t see you but a few times after that. I know I was pretty messed up. But I thought about you and missed you every single day of my life since they took you away. Inside here is the last picture I had of you. Kept it with me everywhere. Sorry for the stain on the back.
Running my thumb over the little photo, I saw innocence and spunk in the happy little kid’s face looking back at me. I chuckle at the 1970s Sesame Street T-shirt I’m wearing.
I also wanna tell you I found Jesus, and He made real big changes in my life. One of the nurses at Sunset Ridge knows Jesus. Her name is Viola, and she started praying for me soon as I got here. She wasn’t all religious like the other church people I’ve known. She talked about Jesus like He was her best friend, and she prayed like nobody I ever heard before. Whenever she was around, I had fewer episodes and I just felt peaceful. She found me a Bible and taught me how to read it where it made sense, and I was getting it.
Viola also showed me about forgiveness. I fought that for a long time. I think I told you the bad things I went through as a kid, so you can imagine how hard a time I had forgiving. Viola was so patient with me. But I get it now. I wish I woulda met Viola a long time ago!
You probably figured out that I see and hear people who ain’t really there. At least, nobody else sees them, but I do. Some doctors called it a personality disorder. I finally learned after trying everything for years that my mind is broke. I tried every medicine they gave me, but it either made it worse or turned me into a zombie. I didn’t always do the right thing either. People say I got a stubborn streak! But since I found Jesus, the other people I see and hear in my head just don’t matter as much anymore. Some days are still better than others. But it’s been so quiet in my head when I play worship songs, or read my Bible (especially the Psalms), or when Viola prays with me.
I’m so sorry things happened the way they did. When they took you and Danielle away from me after all I was doing to make our lives better, I went crazier than I ever did before. I got in so much trouble that no lawyer would ever try to help me find you or get you back. I was too messed up to be a good mom for you and your sister. I hated myself for years over all of it. Your birthdays and Christmas were always so hard, and I usually had to get high to make the pain go away. That never worked anyway. With Jesus I finally forgave myself. Now I don’t gotta get high on you and your sister’s birthdays lately. Instead I use those days to pray for both of you, praying that you’re safe and doing real good, and that you’ll maybe forgive me one day.
Thinking about my own son and daughter and the multiple birthdays I’ve enjoyed with them, a deep ache in my heart pulsed at the notion of the pain Gypsy had to have felt over all she missed. I rested a hand on my heart as a few tears fell.
As I write this, I know I’ll be going to live with Jesus soon. I really tore up my liver and my kidneys, and they did all they could do to fix me. Ain’t nothing left now except to help the pain without making me a zombie again. But don’t be sad for me. I’m excited to get to be in heaven, to see my own mama and daddy again, to see the babies I got rid of, and to have a clear head with no other voices. And I’ll get to dance with Jesus on streets of gold! I don’t know if you read the Bible much, but it says that when we get to heaven, there won’t be no more crying, and God will wipe away all our tears. I think it’s true, and I hope you believe it, too, because I want to see you and Danielle in Heaven (but only after your long life!)
I done sent Danielle her own letter. Maybe you can meet up and be brother and sister again. I think it would be special for both of you.
I had some dreams a couple months ago. I woke up in the middle of the night freaking out crying. In the dream was a little girl with short brown hair. She was underwater, crying for her mommy and daddy, but no one could hear her. Then things changed and that little girl was dead in a casket, and you were standing next to her crying. I woke up with my heart hurting so bad! Viola had been teaching me about how God can use dreams to get us to pray. Had no clue what I was praying for, but I knew somehow you were part of it. So I just prayed and prayed for days that whatever the devil had planned would be stopped. All those days I prayed, my heart was still hurting so bad. Then after about a week praying, I had another dream. That same little girl was holding hands with Jesus, and they were both smiling. When I had that second dream, I felt like God was telling me my prayers were answered, and all the hurt in my heart disappeared. I hope this doesn’t sound crazy, but even if it does, I think it’s important.
A soft sob erupted as I realized my own mother’s role in interceding for Abigail’s life. This thought was so massive, I wasn’t even sure where to put it.
I’m not sure if you ended up with the kind of mama in your life who said good things to you, but I want to give you a blessing, as my son, from your mama. In Bible times, I guess it was a big deal for parents to speak good things to their kids on purpose. Even if I’d wanted to, I wouldn’t have known how. But these are just Bible verses that I hope mean something to you. Viola helped me with this part.
May the Lord bless and keep you, may His face shine on you, may God turn His face to you and give you peace. May God give you whatever is in your heart, and help your plans go well. May Jesus make His home in your heart.
I do love you so much. XOXO – Gypsy.
Now my finger traces the lined pages of her letter as overwhelming love washes over me. Unable to contain that love, I clutch the priceless letter against my chest and allow myself to weep.
I was, and I am, a son who is loved.