I sat under the maple, alone, staring into the amazing light of the sun and asking the question,"Why?"
I asked the squirrels and the chipmunks. I even asked the tiny ant crawling over my hand. I squeezed my eyes closed and whispered "Why?"
When I opened my eyes, I found myself gazing into the eternal wonder of the night sky.
In numbers I was never before aware of, the stars gazed back. Then they began to fall. They fell onto the hills. They fell into trees and danced on the grass. They fell into my eyes, covering my face.
I was being held in tiny hands of light that lifted my body, my soul and my wonder towards the heavens. Yet, I was not afraid, and I could not feel pain. I was pushed through the darkness, the stars parting, welcoming me, letting me pass. They were smiling at me.
The stars became so numerous and so large that all at once I was surrounded by one great light. No longer was I being pushed. I was being pulled. I closed my eyes again and felt the arms of kindness and love embrace me. I fell asleep.
When I awoke, I was in a garden.
The grass was green and the sky was blue, but they were colors I had never seen before. I had to shade my eyes from their brilliance. I arose to my feet. The air was sweet and warm. My body tingled with calm. In the distance I could see a silver pool of water and growing beyond it, a single, white rosebud. I took two steps forward and found myself waist-deep in cool, silky water, within an arm's reach of the rosebud.
My hand lifted forward and the rose bloomed. There she sat,
... in the center of the beautiful flower. Dark curls fell to her shoulders as she folded her tiny hand in her lap. Her eyes brightened as two wings, much too large for such a delicate star, fluttered behind her. The lonely word fell from my mouth "Why?" The angel reached out and held my face in her hands. She leaned forward and with the heart-shaped lips of a child, she kissed my forehead. That is when I knew. That is when I finally felt peace.
I turned around slowly and caught my reflection in the water.
Her lovely arms were around my neck and her rosey cheek was pressed against my ear. She closed her eyes, so I closed mine.
I sat under the maple, starring into the amazing light of the sun,
..only this time, I was not alone and I was no longer wondering why. This is because I know. I know all things are done in God's time, not ours. I know a child can touch our hearts without ever taking a breath of life. I know that this child abides in heaven in true light and happiness. And I know her arms will be around me and her sweet breath will be warm against my ear forever.
Look into your heart. She is there.
She is there to lighten and brighten each one of your days. For Savanna is made of God's light and love. She is our inspiration and will live forever with her King in all of eternity. May she comfort our souls. Savanna Marie Mallory. November 16, 1998.
This was written to my husband and I from a dear cousin. And I thought I would share this story with others that had experienced the same loss.
To read some of Savanna' mother's thoughts..."OUR BABY ANGEL" and "A miscarriage after a stillbirth...Some how this is easier than my Savanna... and it's also alot harder..." by Christine (6/11/99)
Savanna Marie Mallory
In the bottom of an old pond lived some grubs ..who could not understand why none of their groups ever came back after crawling up the stems of the lilies to the top of the water. They promised each other that the next one who was called to make the upward climb would return and tell what happened to him. Soon one of them felt the urgent impulse to seek the surface; ...he rested himself on the top of a lily pad and went through a glorious transformation
which made him a dragonfly with beautiful wings. In vain he tried to keep his promise. Flying back and forth over the pond, he peered down at his friends below. Then he realized that even if they could see him they would not recognize such a radiant creature as one of their number. The fact that we cannot see our friends or communicate with them after the transformation, which we call death, is no proof that they cease to exist. WALTER DUDLEY CAVERT To read more from Tiffany visit..."FOR MY REMEMBERING" and "Tiffany's Subsequent Pregnancy Diary"
When we lost our little son ,Paul , I read alot of books. During that time there were many things I read that stood out to me and gave me comfort. This is one of them. Feel free to pass it on to someone you know who is going through the loss of someone they love.
Return to list of Poems about Feelings and Reactions
by Heather Peterson
"It's time to go."
He told his little one.
"But wait, I'm not done!"
A tiny voice replied.
"The voice I hear each day is filled with such love.
Doesn't she want me to stay?"
"In time, she will understand"
He said, reaching out his hand.
"How?" The little voice said questioning.
"Have you told her of what you have planned?"
"She knows I love her" He said with a gentle smile
"She realized she would only have you for just a little while."
"Then you did tell her of your plans?"
"Yes, in her heart she knows you are off to a better land."
"Will she miss me?"
The little voice said sadly.
"She will miss you very much."
He said as a tear zig-zagged down his face.
"Then I won't go, I'll stay right here."
The little one said boldly.
"I like it here, it's so warm and cozy."
"But I have plans for you"
He said, reaching out his hand.
"What kind of plans?"
The little one said, trying to understand.
"I'm going to take you to a wonderful land.
You will have others to play with,
young one's just like you.
Everywhere there is light, and the sky is
The little one said reaching for his hand.
"You won't leave her alone." He said.
"For I am giving you wings, so you can
see her each night to tuck her into bed."
In the bottom of an old pond lived some grubs
..who could not understand why none of their groups ever came back after crawling up the stems of the lilies to the top of the water. They promised each other that the next one who was called to make the upward climb would return and tell what happened to him.
Soon one of them felt the urgent impulse to seek the surface;
...he rested himself on the top of a lily pad and went through a glorious transformation which made him a dragonfly with beautiful wings. In vain he tried to keep his promise. Flying back and forth over the pond, he peered down at his friends below.
Then he realized that even if they could see him they would not recognize such a radiant creature as one of their number.
The fact that we cannot see our friends or communicate with them after the transformation, which we call death, is no proof that they cease to exist. WALTER DUDLEY CAVERT
To read more from Tiffany visit..."FOR MY REMEMBERING" and "Tiffany's Subsequent Pregnancy Diary"
"I will get to sing her lull-a-bye's
and tell her I love her and she will
hear all I've said?"
The little one said hopefully.
Something I wanted to share for the Share site:
In the initial weeks & months after Ian's stillbirth I recall uncontrollable crying, "wailing" or "moaning" actually. I could never describe it, but I remember my husband was quite alarmed by it ... I found a poem entitled "Resignation" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow which describes it perfectly (see below). It's been a comfort to me finding written material such as this ... we're definitely not alone in our grief. And since I'm a collector of rare books, particularly poetry, this means even more to me.
Longfellow suffered the loss of his daughter, Fanny, in 1848 ... his words
amazingly describe so many of the feelings I've had ... I thought others may
like to read it, too. (Side note: Longfellow wrote many poems about
children, most cheerful.)
In those bright realms of air;
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,
Behold her grown more fair.
Thus we do walk with her, and keep unbroken
The bond which nature gives,
Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken,
May reach her where she lives.
And though at times impetuous with emotion
And anguish long suppressed,
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean,
That cannot be at rest."
In his diary, Longfellow wrote: "I miss very much my dear little Fanny. An inappeasable longing to see her comes over me at times, which I can hardly control."
Copyright 1874 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Book copyright 1893, Houghton, Mifflin & Company, Boston, Mass.JoAnn Walter
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