My dearest Pammy,
You died today. Those are three of the most difficult words for me to type, because with it, it brings finality to that dash that lives between the moment you were born and the moment you died.
Your husband said you died peacefully, as well you should have, because in our many talks, I wanted to make absolutely certain you knew Jesus as your savior. So I know that all of heaven rejoiced the moment you arrived, fully healed, fully whole, and I'm sure you were overwhelmed as Jesus enveloped you with a bear hug like only He can give, and you felt His love and joy permeate your spirit. In that vivid picture in my mind, I can totally rejoice and feel great excitement for you because I know you're healed. I wouldn't be surprised if you told me He had chocolate ice cream ready and waiting for you.
But back to that dash called your life. What you did with it, as I reflect on it, I am grateful to be a small part of it. I say small because you were a lot larger than life. I don't think you even realized the countless lives you've touched. But I quickly saw it, as I watched the messages pour into your Facebook page. I saw it when I walked into your hospice room, your mom snuggled up with you in bed, fiercely loving and protecting her daughter, tenderly stroking your face. I saw it as I watched your husband wrap his arms around you as you talked about needing to go to bed. I saw it as you wrapped your arms around his neck and peace poured over you. I saw it in every moment we were able to hang out. In those moments that I wanted to bless you, and you instead blessed me. I saw it in your Facebook posts, encouraging others that sat in the chemo room at the hospital. Even your team of doctors knew it.
You carried a light inside you that was God's gift for the world. There was always just that something about you that a stranger on the street could spend five minutes with you and that person would walk away feeling like they were loved and that they mattered. Words of affirmation, totally your love language. Quality time, totally your love language. Still to this day, my daughters love your nail salon. If mom was going to Miss Pam's, everyone wanted to come.
You touched my life in such a way that your death is hitting me hard. Nothing more so than just because I'm going to miss your very presence. No more talking at 2:00 a.m. because neither one of us could sleep. No more time spent on HAR.com. We really did spend a crazy amount of time on there, trying to find us a house. No more talking about matters of the heart. No more talking about your chicken pot pie recipe or any other recipes. No more sitting there chatting, drinking our HEB Texas Pecan coffee from your Keurig, watching our kids run around together, playing or napping on the floor. No more trips to the NASA Space Center together, and no more Mexican food green sauce at Moreno's. It's the littlest things I will miss that were really big things.
Neither of us wanted your life to end because of cancer, especially not you. Yes, it's a reminder as women that we need to make sure we get yearly mammograms. But even more so, it's a reminder to make sure we all know who Jesus Christ is, and that we've accepted His free gift called salvation. You were young. Perhaps it's easier to deal with death when you know the person is old, and they've lived a full life. But then again, you lived a full life in all of your 29 years. I know I don't need to worry about Tanner, Jacob, and Aubree. I know God's got them, and they're going to be okay. I know you're a part of their great cloud of witnesses, cheering them on as they run their races.
And now, you're a part of mine. Thinking about that makes me smile. And I hope you've met my dad by now, because he's quite ornery and fun to be around. As I wonder what you thought about your mansion in heaven, I can't help but smile at what your reaction must have been. I smile at the thought of you being introduced to colors you've never imagined here on this earth, wondering how you can get a nail polish in that color.
We're going to celebrate that dash soon as we lay your earthly body to rest. I'm going to smile, and I'm going to probably cry. I'm going to listen as others share stories about how you've so profoundly impacted their lives. You are so worth celebrating.
I love you, girl. And I just miss you.
See you again soon :)
Rach
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