| ~More Poems~ |
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| In a baby castle just beyond my eye, My baby plays with angel toys money cannot buy. Who am I to wish her back into this world of strife? No, play on my baby, you have eternal life. At night when all is silent and sleep forsakes my eyes, I’ll hear her tiny footsteps come running to my side. Her little hands caress me so tenderly and sweet, I’ll breathe a prayer and close my eyes, and embrace her in my sleep. Now I have a treasure that I rate above all other. I have known true glory; I am STILL her mother. Author Unknown |
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| These poems have inspired and helped me with my long jorney of grief that has just begun. I hope they do the same for you |
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| Little Footprints How very softly you tiptoed into our world. Almost silently, only a moment you stayed. But what an imprint your footsteps have left upon our hearts. ~Dorothy Ferguson~ |
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| God’s Flower Garden Sometimes we can’t quite understand Our great creators way. When he takes a life so young And leaves one withered , old, and gray. Whose life work seems finished, Perhaps is waiting for the call. While that life so young and tender Held so much here for us all. Then sometimes I get to thinking, Perhaps this world down here below, Is just a flower garden, Where God’s flowers live and grow. And perhaps when God is lonely, Like us, He loves to roam In His garden, gathering flowers, Just to beautify his home. Tho’ He takes the full-bloomed flowers, Drooped and withered that need his care. Still he needs a bud or blossom, To scatter with them, here and there. So He takes a few choice blossoms, Just the rarest He can find, And because God needs them up in Heaven, Must comfort loved ones left behind. ~Author Unknown~ |
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| If I Could Take ~Author Unknown~ If I could take a minute out of each and everyday, To hold my child close to my heart and kiss her fears away. If I could take a minute out of each and every week, To play with blocks and peek-a-boo, tag or hide and seek. If I could take a minute out of any span of time, I’d never waste a second of the pleasures that were mine. If she could crawl up on my knee and lay her sleepy head, Upon my shoulder tenderly and dream of gingerbread. I’d spend my time in total bliss and watch my small daughter grow, From babyhood to childhood, knowing all there is to know. If I could stop my aching heart and put my mind to asleep, If I could stop the flow of tears that are always on my cheek. I only need a minute, Lord, I know she’s safe with you, But there’s something real important that I had no time to do. If you could do it for me Lord, here’s a message she should know, Tell her that I love her, then I’ll let her go. |
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| Bereaved Parent’s Wish List ~By Trina Walsh~ I wish my child hadn’t died. I wish I had her back. I wish you wouldn’t be afraid to speak my child’s name. My child lived and was very important to me. I need to hear that she was important to you also. If I cry and get emotional when you talk about my child I wish you knew that it isn’t because you have hurt me. My child’s death is the cause of my tears. You have talked about my child, and you have allowed me to share my grief. I thank you for both. I wish you wouldn’t kill my child again by removing her pictures or other remembrances from your home. Being a bereaved parent is not contagious, so I wish you wouldn’t shy away from me. I need you now more than ever. I need diversions, so I do want to hear about you; but I also want you to hear about me. I might be sad and I might cry, but I wish you would let me talk about my child, my favorite topic of the day. I know that you think of and pray for me often. I also know that my child’s death pains you, too. I wish you would let me know these things through a phone call, a card or note, or real big hug. I wish you wouldn’t expect my grief to be over in six months. These first months are traumatic for me, but I wish you could understand that my grief will never be over. I will suffer the death of my child until the day I die. I am working very hard in my recovery, but I wish you could understand that I will never fully recover. I will always miss my child, and I will always grieve that she is dead. I wish you wouldn’t expect me to not think about it or to be happy. Neither will happen for a long time, so don’t frustrate yourself. I don’t want to have a pity party, but I do wish you would let me grieve. I must hurt before I can heal. I wish you understood how my life was shattered. I know it is miserable for you to be around me when I’m feeling miserable. Please be as patient with me as I am with you. When I say I’m doing okay, I wish you could understand that I don’t feel okay and that I struggle daily. I wish you knew that all of the grief reactions I’m having are very normal. Depression, anger, hopelessness, and overwhelming sadness are all to be expected. So please excuse me when I’m quiet and withdrawn or irritable and cranky. Your advice to ‘take it one day at a time’ is excellent advice. However, a day is too much and too fast for me right now. I wish you could understand that I’m doing good to handle one hour at a time. Please excuse me if I am rude, certainly not my intent. Sometimes the world around me goes to fast, and I need to get off. When I walk away, I wish you would let me find a quiet place to spend time alone. I wish you understood that grief changes people. When my child died, a big part of me died with her. I am not the same person I was before my child died and will never be that person again. I wish very much that you could understand my loss and my grief, my silence and my tears, my void, and my pain. But I pray daily that you will never understand. I hope that this list will help you understand the depth of the pain that is felt when a child has died. |
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