I think of her often. What does she look like? When I see her again, will Jesus hand me a baby or will she be a grown woman? I know when I am in heaven, it won’t matter, but I imagine her full of life, maybe 3 years old, fluttering around in a lacy white dress, picking daisies and grabbing her big brother’s hand to run through the green pastures.
Does she play hide-n-seek with Uriah, Victoria and Timothy? Does she run with the many babies that came to heaven too early because of the 40th anniversary of Roe v Wade today?
Does God part the clouds for her to peak in on us? Did she see her twin sisters as they married last year in their pretty wedding dresses? Was she as excited as her sisters, clapping her hands as little girls do? Was she a silent flower girl, throwing daisy petals from the heavens?
When my seven daughters here (including my daughter-in-law), were lined up for pictures, was she peeking through?
I especially remember that precious little baby girl I held 15 years ago today, so perfect, yet so very silent, never to hear her first cry or see the color of her eyes.
Does she hear us sing happy birthday and watch as her siblings blow out her birthday candles?
Does she catch the kisses I blow to her today?
And does she blow kisses back?
I think so.
Happy Birthday our Angela Hope.
We love you.