When Heaven Feels Close: Honoring My Mother on Her Birthday

February 8th would have been my mom’s 80th birthday.

I woke up with a heavy heart. Birthdays used to mean a phone call. A laugh. A memory shared. February 8, 2026, it feels quiet. Different. Sacred in a way I did not expect.

Her name was Florence. She was gentle, loving, and deeply devoted to God. She carried kindness everywhere she went. People felt safe around her. I did too, even when our story was complicated.

In 2018, something happened that I could not explain at the time. I saw my mother in a coffin. I remember staring at what I saw and wondering if my mind was playing tricks on me. I pushed the thought away. I told myself it meant nothing.

But the feeling never fully left.

In 2019, my mom suffered a brain aneurysm. By God’s grace, we were able to get her help quickly. Her life was saved. Looking back, I see God’s hand so clearly. He was already preparing my heart for what was ahead.

Then came 2020. She broke her hip. I stayed with her for six weeks. Those six weeks changed everything.

Our past had not been easy. My childhood held pain and wounds that only God truly understood. Yet during those weeks, something began to heal. Conversations happened that had never happened before. Walls softened. Forgiveness began to grow.

God gave me that time. He knew I would need it.

When I left to return to Colorado, I sat in the driveway and cried. Deep in my spirit, I heard the quiet whisper of God. You will not see her for a while.

I did not understand why. But the words stayed with me.

I would not see her again until April of 2022 for my 50th birthday. That visit felt like a gift wrapped in grace. She was healing. My sister was getting married. She was able to attend the wedding just one day after surgery. We celebrated together. We laughed. We made memories.

God knew we needed that moment.

Months later, something began to shift in my heart. Every time we spoke on the phone, I felt a deep ache. A heaviness I could not explain. One morning, I woke up and saw her sitting on a rock, young again, full of life. She looked like she was in her thirties.

I called her right away.

Mom, I just saw you in heaven. You looked so young.

She laughed softly and said, That sounds good.

I tried to brush it off. I did not want to believe what my heart already sensed.

Then came the morning she passed.

I heard her voice say, Help me. Help me. Moments later, I heard, It is so beautiful here.

I looked at my husband and said, My mom just passed.

And she had.

Grief is strange. It hurts deeply. Yet it also carries moments of peace that can only come from God.

Scripture reminds us in Psalm 34:18, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

I have felt that closeness. In the quiet. In the tears. In the memories.

God never wastes our pain. Not the childhood wounds. Not the complicated relationships. Not the goodbyes. He uses every part of our story to refine us and draw us closer to Him.

Those six weeks in 2020 were not random. That birthday visit in 2022 was not coincidence. God was writing a story of healing long before I understood the ending.

Ecclesiastes 3:11 says, “He has made everything beautiful in its time.”

Even grief can become beautiful when God is holding it.

Today, I miss my mom deeply. I wish I could call her. I wish I could hear her voice. I wish we could celebrate her birthday together.

But I also know this truth with my whole heart. She is at peace. She is with her Heavenly Father. She is whole, restored, and free.

And the story is not over.

If you are grieving today, you are not alone. If your heart aches for someone you love, God sees you. If you carry regret, pain, or unfinished conversations, bring them to Him.

He is still writing your story.

One day, every broken beginning will lead to a beautiful ending.

So today, I honor my mom. I thank God for her life. For her love. For the healing He allowed us to experience before she went home.

Happy birthday, Mom. We love you. We miss you. And we trust the beautiful story God continues to write.

Love and light to you always,

Heather M. Larribas

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