Dear Mom

by Ashlea Milligan 2 months ago in love

Letter for the void

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

Sometimes, when I think of you, I imagine you sitting sweetly in Heaven, asking me if there are any fun stories to tell. I imagine you particularly excited about the boys I have met. I imagine myself responding no, nothing yet, nothing worth telling you about. Just things my heart wants to be real, but my Spirit knows are not.

But this time when you ask me, I admit feeling torn. “It’s early in the process, Mom, and these are likely naught but the ramblings of a lovestruck young fool. It will probably pass soon enough. In fact, he’d just think me crazy if he knew how strongly I feel for him.”

But I can not shake the feeling that this time, with him, there is more to be said. More worth saying. I imagine myself glancing up at you after pondering for a moment. I imagine you catching my gaze and smiling knowingly, a soft twinkle in your eyes.

Face drawn taught in contemplation, I continue. “I did not awaken or arouse any love for him. It came unbidden, and I am unable to dispel it even in the smallest amount. The significance of it weighs on me, and yet how can it be significant, really? I barely know him.”

I imagine you continuing to look at me evenly, waiting for more.

“But I’ve seen what he walks in. I’ve seen the fruit of his life. Never have I seen such humility and leadership, such careful intentionality. All the marks of true royalty. He is indeed a prince of Heaven, a prince among men. Surely no one compares to him, save for our Lord.”

I imagine your eyes beginning to fill with unspilt tears, full of an emotion I don’t recognize, one untouched by sadness. I imagine you continuing to silently wait, allowing me to pour myself out to you.

“Mom.” I’m whispering now, weighing each word carefully against the storeroom that has been built up in my heart. “God upended even my imagination, which has conjured things so fantastic and perfect that it's muddied my view of reality, forcing me to recognize that things rarely happen as serendipitously as they do in my mind. But in this, with him, I've been outdone. He exceeds my wildest dreams.”

I imagine your tears begin to spill, slowly and intentionally, as the emotion I can’t name overwhelms you.

I imagine myself staring deeply into your eyes, searching for the answers to my unspoken questions. I imagine you meeting my eyes evenly, patiently.

“Mom. I think I might be crazy. But something far deeper than me says I’m not. I don’t know which to listen to, which is right… but I suppose we’ll know soon enough.” I sigh lightly, contemplative for a moment. Then I glance back up at you, timid, and am met with your intent, searching face.

“But really, what I think more than anything, the one idea that refuses to budge from my heart and my mind… I think I love him.” I say it as an exhalation, the words pouring out of me after having been trapped within for so long. I continue quickly. “But that’s impossible, right? I mean, I hardly even know him, it's probably just a stupid…”

I imagine myself trailing off as I realize your tears are flowing more steadily now. I imagine a smile lighting up your tear-stained face as you lean forward to whisper, your emotions allowing you to do nothing more,

“I can’t wait to meet him.”

How does it work?
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Ashlea Milligan

I’ve dedicated my life to seeking out the light in people, shining spotlights onto individuality in an effort to capture the complexity of humanity. Here, I begin by exploring myself, showing my deepest and tenderest feelings to the light.

See all posts by Ashlea Milligan