I just met you—I feel cheated.
I don’t want to say goodbye.
I know I’ll likely see you in a couple of decades or so—in light of eternity, it won’t be long, really. Still I don’t want to say goodbye.
You will always be my Molly, my granddaughter. I’m really sad that I won’t be getting to spoil you with a doll, or go sneak chocolate, or take you on ice cream dates, and eat chocolate pie and pudding. Laughing all the time at what your mommy and daddy would say if they knew what we were doing. I don’t want to say goodbye.
Your seven days sure brought a lot of joy to your mom and dad’s face—I’ve watched them drink you in with their eyes, kiss you from head to foot, stroke and caress you.
Your parents loved you well—God couldn’t have given you better parents. Courageous parents. They have loved you with a sacrificial love that only a very few little girls like you ever get to experience. Because it hurts their hearts so much, oh, how I really don’t want to say goodbye.
And so, Sweet Molly, until that day in heaven when we will celebrate the Greatness of our God together (then we will go sneak chocolate and go on an ice cream date) I must say goodbye.
Goodbye, Molly Ann.
I love you,
Molly Ann Mutz