Happy Heavenly Birthday Mom: A Letter On Grief And Love

I signed into Facebook and ~boom~ there it was: the birthday reminder. It’s been two years since Mom went to Heaven, and somehow it hit harder today than last year.

There’s a hole in my heart where she used to be.

I have photos.
I have memories.
But none of it compares to hearing her voice, FaceTiming to sing her happy birthday, dreaming up our next adventure together.

We’d take regular walks together…

Most days we walked from two states… her in Tennessee, me in Florida… FaceTiming as our steps synced. We planned trips, traded health ideas, talked about our business (she was my business partner), and we shared kid updates and new ventures.

No makeup, just breath and love… our favorite long-distance walks.

I miss our trips… the back‑to‑back cruises, road trips that turned into laugh‑til‑we‑can’t‑breathe marathons, the Grand Ole Opry (we were so giddy that night), and floating down that underground river in Mexico promising we’d come back.

Growing up, we baked cookies, ate frosting straight from the pan (just us girls), made homemade ice cream out of big snowfalls, planted many gardens, and told ghost stories after late‑night dollar theater movies.

She taught me to always keep emergency money… just in case.

From her I learned to be fiercely independent, to protect the people I love, to help when I can, to build things with an entrepreneur’s heart, to never be too old to have fun… and, yes, to be a sci fi nerd.

Today, the grief feels raw.

I feel alone even with my husband and kiddos nearby.

How is it possible to miss her this much two years later?

Thank you, Facebook, for throwing it in my face… now what do I do with all of this ache on her day?

Grief doesn’t run in straight lines.

One minute I think I’m okay. The next, I’m not sure how I’ll make it through the day without calling her.

I catch myself reaching for the phone to tell her everything… about life, the kids, this blog, a new health find, the healing herbs she loved.

I want to show her the words I’ve finally been brave enough to write.

I understand now, Mom… how hard life was for you… the way your heart stretches when your kids grow up and launch.

It doesn’t divide; it multiplies. They carry pieces of you as they chase their own lives. I get it in my bones now.

Do you remember when we floated down that underground river in Mexico? We promised we’d go again. It was one of our favorite memories.

And the Grand Ole Opry… how we laughed and sang when we got back in the car.

We did two cruises back‑to‑back just because we could. I keep those memories like seashells in a jar; I pick them up when the tide of missing you comes in.

You taught me practical magic… how to keep emergency money and how to make a feast out of a snowfall.

You let us eat frosting straight from the pan (the very best kind of rebellion), taught us to bake, to garden, and to make ordinary days into little celebrations.

We told ghost stories on the way home from the dollar theater and pretended we weren’t scared. We were safe because we were together.

I’m working on the book I always talked about, and I finally started my blog. I’m being brave (you taught me how). I’m putting my heart on the page even though I’m an introvert to my core.

I’m learning about the healing herbs you loved… maybe I’ll expand the blog to include them.

Every day I learn something new and wish I could show you. When I find a great health idea, I still look for my phone to tell you first... so we can try it together.

Some days I’m okay. Other days, like today, I don’t know how to do one more minute without you. But I’m carrying us forward. I’m honoring you with words, with courage, with tea and a candle and the kind of love that time can’t dilute.

When I get to Heaven, I’ll fill you in on everything. For now, I’ll keep writing you letters and living the way you taught me… joyful, resourceful, and game for a little silliness.

Simple Prompts To Start Your Own Letter

• Today I remembered the time we…
• I wish I could tell you that…
• I finally understand now that…
• One thing I’m proud of since you’ve been gone is…
• Here’s how I’m keeping your traditions alive…
• My birthday wishes in heaven for you are…

If you’re writing as a daughter, it’s okay to say happy heavenly birthday mom from daughter.

If you’re writing for a friend or another loved one, you might adapt to happy birthday to someone in heaven or happy birthday in heaven friend.

Gentle Helpers I Love (Subtle, Heart Centered)

These small items have helped me turn tough days into tender ones:

• A Starter Herb Kit to honor her love of healing herbs.
• Plant Some Flowers… (Zinnias are pretty) start a little remembering mom garden, in her honor.
• A Guided Grief Journal with space for prompts like the ones above. This is also an excellent book if you’ve lost a parent… and a great companion to the guided grief journal by Gary Roe above.
• A Simple Candle you light only on her day.
• Pretty Stationery for your “happy birthday mom in heaven letter.”

(I only recommend items I’ve used and loved… gentle and genuinely useful. Choose what supports your heart.)