Sunday, May 8, 2011


I was not there to offer comfort after her young daughter died,
The wind blew cold on that bitter February day,
Not yet two years old, her soul departed,
In the Year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred and eighty-four,

And a fear gripped me like no other,
A fear that kept me from caring for my friend,
Instead, I sent flowers and a note,
My husband, my mother went to her,
Even my young daughter sat with her,
Longing to soothe her anguish,
While I sat at home, selfishly, in my favorite chair, rocking,
Yearning to ease my pain, my fear,

The fear that this could happen to me,
That I, too could have my only child, my daughter, taken,
Snatched from my arms,
My heart shattered into a million pieces,
Fragments gone forever,
I had no comfort to offer because my mind was in torment,
Rocking, I sobbed, begging God for a reprieve from this kind of affliction,

At the viewing, it was my suffering friend that took my hand and led me to see her daughter,
Leah’s small body, clothed in her white baptismal gown,
Lay peaceful, beautiful, liberated,
It was my suffering friend that offered me comfort,
When she was filled with overwhelming grief,
Her heart in splinters,
She wanted to lessen my pain,
She hoped to calm my fear,

While my fear had kept me hidden, frozen,
Her courage, her love, her tenderness, filled me with calm.