Be Still and Know

✨ Be Still and Know: A Birthday Letter to Mia, and to the Mother I Became ✨

Today my daughter, Mia, would be 21 years old.

Twenty‑one. A number that feels impossible and so real all at once.

There are moments in life that split you open and rearrange everything you thought you knew. Mia was that moment for me. Her life was short—seven weeks—but the clarity she brought, the love she carried, and the truth she revealed have lasted a lifetime.

The Song That Captured Her

When Mia was born, we were gifted a song written just for her by Songs of Love.

Part of the chorus says:

“Be still and know, Mia Anderson.”

I didn’t understand then how perfectly those words captured our time with her. We spent so much of those seven weeks scrambling—trying to save her, trying to fix what couldn’t be fixed, grasping at every straw because she deserved a full life. A real life. A chance.

But the moments that stay with me…

the ones that still glow…

were the moments when weren't scrambling at all...

The moments when we were still.

When we simply knew her.

When we let ourselves love her without fear.

The Girl Who Loved Us Back

Mia may not have had words, but she communicated with a determination that still amazes me.

She loved having us near.

She loved our voices.

She loved the attention we gave her.

And she tried so hard—so incredibly hard—to respond.

On her bad days, things eased when Mom and Dad walked in.

On her good days, her eyes followed us around the room.

And on her very best days, when she didn’t need the ventilator, she cooed at us.

Those tiny sounds melted our hearts in ways nothing else ever has.

Letting Her Go

One of the hardest and holiest moments of my life was telling her that she didn’t have to keep fighting for us. That when she was ready to go, we would understand. That our love wasn’t conditional on her staying.

And when we said those words, she finally let go.

She took the Lord’s hand and went to her forever home.

I imagine her now with my grandparents and parents—safe, whole, laughing, glowing. I know they’re having the best time. And I know they’re waiting for me.

The Questions That Haunted Me

For years, I carried guilt like a shadow.

Mia was born with hypoplastic left heart syndrome, an encephalocele on the back of her head with spinal fluid constantly draining, a cleft lip and pallet with the whole left side of her body underdeveloped.

What did I do wrong?

Was this my fault?

Was I being punished for something?

Back then, the testing we have now wasn’t available. I had no answers—only fear and self‑blame.

But recently, after finally getting my genetics tested, the missing pages of my story filled themselves in.

My genetics showed a high probability of having a child with a heart anomaly, a cleft lip and pallette and neural tube defects.

It came from both parents.

It was never something I did.

It was never a punishment.

It was never my fault.

It was written into my DNA long before I ever became a mother.

That clarity—21 years later—was a gift I didn’t know I would ever receive.

The Turning Point

My genetics revealed so much to me, like:

my sensitivity to stress and drama is real.

My need for space is real.

My nervous system isn’t built for chaos. It is built for steady and calm.

And instead of bending until I break, I’m learning to bend and flow.

To float instead of push.

To circulate instead of collapse.

This is my turning point.

This is where I reclaim myself.

This is where I honor the mother I was, the woman I am, and the daughter who changed everything.

This is the point in my life where I hold onto clarity and peace even in conflict.

Happy 21st Birthday, Mia

You were here for seven weeks.

You’ve been in my heart for twenty‑one plus years.

And your love will live on for generations.

Be still and know, Mia girl.

I feel you.

I carry you.

I celebrate you.

Always.