To my bravest little girl, Maya,
I’m watching you sleep right now, and I’m memorizing the way your eyelashes brush your cheeks. There is something I need to tell you; something that might feel heavy for your eight-year-old shoulders, but I know how strong they are.
Soon, Mommy is going to go to a place where the pain can’t find me anymore. When that happens, I need you to make me a very special promise: Don’t let your heart stay heavy with tears.
I know it will hurt. But when you feel like crying, I want you to look at your baby brothers. Look at Leo, who is only four and still thinks life is a big game of hide-and-seek. Look at little Sam, who is only six months old and won’t remember the smell of my perfume or the way I rocked him to sleep.
They are going to need you to be their North Star.
When Sam cries for comfort, hold his hand like I held yours. When Leo misses my bedtime stories, tell him the ones we made up together. You are the keeper of our family’s magic now. By taking care of them, you are keeping a piece of me alive.
And on the days when you feel lonely, or when you miss me so much it feels like you can’t breathe; reach for your doll.
I’ve tucked a thousand kisses into her fabric. Every time you brush her hair or hold her tight, imagine it’s me playing with you. Let her be the bridge between us. When you play with her, I am right there on the floor beside you, laughing at your jokes and admiring your kindness.
You aren't losing a mother; you are gaining a permanent seat in my heart, and I’m gaining the best view in the world to watch you grow.
Be kind. Be brave. And please, love your brothers for me.
Love you to the moon and back, forever and always,
Mommy
