The Day You Wrote Me a Message

Caleb,

Remember when you were trying to improve your cursive handwriting?

Learning handwriting as a kid was hard for you. You didn’t exactly love it. But when you started learning cursive, something clicked. You worked at it because you liked how it looked, even though you felt like you never quite perfected it.

Sometime during your teenage years—around fifteen, I think—you picked it up again. I wish I could remember exactly when, but I clearly remember this: you brought me a page you had written and asked what I thought.

I remember looking at it and thinking two things at once:

First—great job. I loved that you were working on your handwriting again.

Second—those words. What made you write those words? 

So I asked you.

You told me they had just come to your mind while you were trying to think of something to write outside your handwriting workbook. You’d written them in a new sketchbook you planned to use for drawing in.

I remember this now because—fast forward to about a week after you passed away—I went into your room for the first time since your death. I was searching through your drawers, looking for things that might be good for the viewing.

When I opened the top drawer of your dresser, I found a pile of notebooks and journals tucked beneath a stash of socks. I picked a few up and flipped through them, letting the pages slide between my fingers.

One was a sketchbook with the cover nearly falling off. That sketchbook.

As I flipped through it, almost every page was still empty—except the very beginning.

Those words were there.

Staring me right in the face.

In your mortal life, that notebook served one purpose for you:
writing those words on the first page.

In my mortal life, it has served one purpose for me:
a perfectly timed message from my angel boy.

How did you know?
How did this happen?

I sat on the floor of your closet, the room dim and quiet, tears rolling down my face.

Thank you for your message.

This happened on January 12—Dad’s birthday. With the notebook in hand, I walked upstairs to find him. He was just as awed as I was.

“Did Caleb know somehow?” he asked.

Caleb… did you know, deep down, that you would be needed on the other side sooner than we expected—and that we would need that message from you?  

At the time of this writing we still have no cause of death. We know you had been dealing with headaches recently, and your typical back pain.  But they didn't seem to slow you down much.  

You were otherwise happy, healthy, serving and acting like your same excitable self.  We had just talked to you on New Years Day, 2 days before your passing.  You were excited about the gospel.  

In your younger years you had some special and unique experiences with those on the other side of veil.  You were often very close to the veil. Was there some deep pull you couldn't explain?  

Maybe.

Either way, we find great peace in knowing that your message to us is true: God truly is with us. We also know that you are truly with Him.

Love,
Mom