I saw your face for just a moment before the nurse carried your lifeless body away. You looked like you were sleeping, except I knew I’d never see you wake up. I left the hospital with empty arms and suddenly all I could see was the empty space in our family.
I never got to see the color of your eyes.
I never got to see your tiny fist wrapped around my finger.
I never got to see you smile.
I never got to see you drift off to sleep in my arms.
I never got to see you take your first steps.
I never got to see your daddy hold you.
I never got see you dance in the rain.
I never got to see you play with your sister and brother.
I never got to see your grandparents spoil you.
I never got to see you blow out the candle’s of your birthday cake.
I never got to see you express joy at the wonder and beauty in this life.
I never got to see you grow.
But one day I will.
Because one day, I’ll see you in heaven.
And the empty space will be filled. And the life that wasn’t complete on this earth will be made full at the feet of Jesus.
For awhile, I couldn’t see how I’d be able to go on without you. But now I can see how God took care of me in your absence, just as he’s taking care of you in his presence.
I never got to see you live.
But I will. Because one day I’ll see you in heaven.
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