an open letter to God’s newest angel

Miranda, our beautiful niece,

My goodness, how life has changed in the last two weeks. That Thursday, as I sat at work, your Tió Jeremy called me. I heard it in his quivering voice as he struggled to tell me through his own tears….   there was a school bus accident that morning in New Jersey. You were on that bus. You didn’t make it. I immediately screamed, “NO!” I repeated it over and over as my own tears fell down my face. I tried to catch my breath. Most of that afternoon is a blur. We quickly packed and got into the car to be with everyone in Jersey. Your Tió and I half expected it to be a huge mistake, knowing you would jump out at Grandma and Grandpa’s house yelling “Hi Tití! Hi Tió!” and give us cute kisses on both our cheeks.

The car ride was filled with us thinking of all the ways the information we received could be wrong. Maybe you felt sick that day and decided not to go to Waterloo Village on the field trip. Maybe you were on one of the other two buses that arrived safely back to school, but they hadn’t found you yet. Miranda, we prayed so hard to hear someone tell us this was all a huge mistake. When we got to Grandma and Grandpa’s house, you didn’t greet us at the top of the stairs with one of your big hugs. We were greeted instead, with an intense and overwhelming sadness. There were tears on top of more tears. There was shock. The whole scene was surreal. Even then, we still waited for you to be drinking a grape soda in the kitchen or to join us on the couch, or to be doing splits in the middle of the floor. You never came.

That morning, we woke up to the loudest emptiness we have ever heard and our hearts have ever felt. There was something missing. There was grief and mourning all around us, and yet I still continued to pray there had been some mistake. The hospital would call and apologize for the awful inconvenience and tell us to come pick you up so we could go shopping with Grandma and start looking for summer clothes and swimsuits. We were all planning to spend Memorial Day weekend at Grandma and Grandpa’s pool and grilling out. But the hospital didn’t call to say any of that. Instead, social media and news outlets were filled with even more confirmation of the fatal bus crash that took your life. The pictures were everywhere, the chassis of the bus completely ripped off. The sound clips of 911 dispatch were already circulating. Everything started to feel a little too real.

I spent the weekend scrolling through all the photos I have of you in my phone, searching for that one video I love of you and Lilly dancing in the living room. I wanted to see your smile, your elegance, your sincere love of your cousin, sister, family, and friends. I kept looking at your photos, somehow hoping the longer I stared at you, the better chance I would have to hear the doorbell ring and you have you walk in with your elegant, long french braid swinging around you and an off-the-shoulder dress because the weather was getting warmer.

Instead, we donned our black attire to make our way to the funeral home for your viewing. Even still, we fought the idea that you could be gone forever, that we wouldn’t ever have you come put your hand to our ear to whisper, “Tití, Tió….” and share a fun moment from school or the latest YouTube video. But then I saw you. Miranda, you were showing off for us, little lady. You have always been stunningly beautiful, but this day – you took my breath away. In the same instance I saw your gorgeous face, it also hit me. You were laying lifeless. It didn’t change your beauty, but it forced the realization that you were gone and no matter how hard I tried to combat the reality of the situation, I would have to start processing a new normal without you in it.

How I wish I could change anything, something about all of this for everyone in our family. There is pain and heartbreak and really, no words could ever encompass the emotion surrounding losing you in our family. When I married your Tió Jeremy, I got a few new titles and one of my favorites was “Tití.” I certainly haven’t known you as long as most in the family or even spent the most time with you, but Miranda, that’s the thing. Regardless of the amount of time, you had a supernatural way of bringing joy to people and peace to any room. You have instilled that joy and peace into the world and will live on here with and through us. My grief and longing for you is evidence of who you were, baby girl.

At Thanksgiving last year, you told me you wanted me to go see the movie Wonder. You said it was “amazing” and had a really good message. You even took my phone so you could show me the trailer online. You also told me the movie was a book and if you remember, I promised I would watch the movie with you as soon as I read the book. At Lilly’s birthday in December, you asked me again… “Tití, did you ever read Wonder?” I still hadn’t. First, I want to say I’m sorry. It took me too long to get to the book because…I thought we had plenty of time left together down here. I have learned my lesson. Our time together is never promised. However, I think God had me wait to read this book now so I could be reminded of the message you left with us through your life. Secondly, you were right. It’s a GREAT story! I only wish we could have watched the movie together.

I couldn’t help but think of you when I was reading the speech Auggie’s principal gives at the end of the school year to the class. Miranda, always know the very storyline of Wonder that you loved was the way YOU lived your life. It is the example you left for all of us.

“If every single person in this room made it a rule that wherever you are, wherever you can, you will try to act a little kinder than is necessary– the world would be a better place. And if you do this, if you act just a little kinder than is necessary, someone else, somewhere, someday, may recognize in you, in every single one of you, the face of God.” 

Thank you, Miranda, for showing us all what it looks like to be kind, to love people well, to serve the least of these, to bring joy wherever we go, and remind us that it’s not about the volume of our voices, but the sincerity of our actions. I love you, sweet niece. I will miss getting your texts just to say hi and our Facetime calls to swap ideas about making slime. I will miss every new hairstyle you tried out on me after we put Lilly down to sleep at night during our visits to Jersey. I will miss you constantly challenging me to try and put my leg behind my neck because you always could. I will miss watching you be a little mommy to Lilly and throwing water balloons at Jeremiah. And I will always miss how incredibly happy you made your Tió whenever he saw you.

We went through a million photos trying to choose some of our favorites. It was impossible, but here are a couple for your scrapbook up in heaven. I hope they give you the same smile and full heart that they give us when we think of all our fun times together. Until we make memories again forever – fly high sweet one. -J, K, J, & L

(Photo by Shanen Weaver @ Heritage Photography)