01 May 2009

Poem Without A Name

This was sent to me by a friend who has babies in heaven:

"The following poem was sent to us by a mother who received it from a friend. The friend had no idea who wrote it. Surely though, whoever did must have been someone like us, to capture not just the pathos of stillbirth, but the emptiness that greets mothers when they step back into the world.

"What is it in our culture that causes so many to fear death so much that they will go out of their way to not even discuss it? Is this aversion like the blinders horses wear, so they are not startled by peripheral events? If so, we’re going to miss a lot of life along the roads we travel for not accepting that all roads have endings.

"We have experienced the best and the worst life has to offer. And yet is there any one of us who – were we given a chance knowing the outcome – would not have gone through the fire? We are not to be pitied for our loss. It is they, who have 'died', but not yet stopped breathing or fallen over, that deserve the pity."

Poem Without A Name

To those who look away when I grow teary-eyed in the baby department,
look a little deeper.
Surely you have some compassion in your heart.

To those who change the subject when we speak our baby's name,
change your way of thinking.
It just might change your whole life.

To those who roll their eyes and say that we barely had her at all,
how could we miss her so much,
in our hearts we have seen her live a thousand times.
We have seen her first steps, her first day of school, her wedding, and her children.
We have had her forever in our minds.

To those who say we can have another, we did.
I thank God for that everyday,
but even if I have twenty more babies,
I will forever have one in the grave,
and that is one too many.

To those who say to get on with my life, I have.
It is a different life,
the life of a grieving mother.
One with a tremendous amount to be thankful for,
but also one with a lot to mourn the loss of!

Do not judge the bereaved mother.
She comes in many forms.
She is breathing, but she is dying.
She may look young, but inside she has become ancient.
She smiles, but her heart sobs.
She walks, she talks, she cooks, she cleans, she works,
she IS, but she IS NOT, all at once.
She is here, but part of her is elsewhere for eternity.

Do not dismiss us; we have shaped more than just the future generation.
We have released all the tiny angels who are watching over you.
Open your eyes to US,
and you just might see THEM.

-Author Unknown

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