A collection of poems that touch me.
This poem was shared with me by a friend....thanks Holly!
Don't let them say I wasn't born
That something stopped my heart.
I felt each tender squeeze you gave,
I've loved you from the start.
Although my body you cannot hold,
It doesn't mean I am gone
This world was worthy not of me,
God chose that I move on.
I know the pain that drowns your soul,
What you are forced to face.
You have my word, I'll fill your arms,
Someday we will embrace.
You'll hear that it was "meant to be,
God doesn't make mistakes,"
But that won't soften your worst blow,
Or make your heart not ache.
I'm watching over all you do,
Another child you'll bear,
Believe me when I say to you,
That I am always there.
There will come a time, I promise you
When you will hold my hand,
Stroke my face and kiss my lips,
And you will understand.
Although I've never breathed your air,
Or gazed into your eyes
That doesn't mean I never "was"
An angel never dies.
-author unknown
"A Pair of Shoes"
author unknown
I am wearing a pair ofshoes .
They are ugly shoes.
Uncomfortable shoes.
I hate my shoes.
Each day I wear them, and each day I wish I had another pair.
Some days my shoes hurt so bad that I do not think I can take another step.
Yet, I continue to wear them.
I get funny looks wearing these shoes. They are looks of sympathy.
I can tell in others eyes that they are glad they are my shoes and not theirs.
They never talk about my shoes.
To learn how awful my shoes are might make them uncomfortable.
To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them.
But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.
I now realize that I am not the only one who wears these shoes.
There are many pairs in this world.
Some women are like me and ache daily as they try and walk in them.
Some have learned how to walk in them so they don’t hurt quite as much.
Some have worn the shoes so long that days will go by before they think
about how much they hurt.
No woman deserves to wear these shoes.
Yet, because of these shoes I am a stronger woman.
These shoes have given me the strength to face anything.
They have made me who I am.
I will forever walk in the shoes of a woman who has lost a child.
author unknown
I am wearing a pair of
They are ugly shoes.
Uncomfortable shoes.
I hate my shoes.
Each day I wear them, and each day I wish I had another pair.
Some days my shoes hurt so bad that I do not think I can take another step.
Yet, I continue to wear them.
I get funny looks wearing these shoes. They are looks of sympathy.
I can tell in others eyes that they are glad they are my shoes and not theirs.
They never talk about my shoes.
To learn how awful my shoes are might make them uncomfortable.
To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them.
But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.
I now realize that I am not the only one who wears these shoes.
There are many pairs in this world.
Some women are like me and ache daily as they try and walk in them.
Some have learned how to walk in them so they don’t hurt quite as much.
Some have worn the shoes so long that days will go by before they think
about how much they hurt.
No woman deserves to wear these shoes.
Yet, because of these shoes I am a stronger woman.
These shoes have given me the strength to face anything.
They have made me who I am.
I will forever walk in the shoes of a woman who has lost a child.
My New Normal
author unknown
Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile when you realize someone important is missing from all the important events in your family’s life.
Normal for me is trying to decide what to take to the cemetery for Birthdays, Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, Valentine’s Day, July 4th and Easter.
Normal is reliving that day continuously through your eyes and mind.
Normal is every happy event in my life always being backed up with sadness lurking close behind, because of the hole in my heart.
Normal is staring at every baby who looks like she is my baby’s age. And then thinking of the age she would be now and not being able to imagine it. Then wondering why it is even important to imagine it, because it will never happen.
Normal is telling the story of your child’s death as if it were an everyday, commonplace activity, and then seeing the horror in someone’s eyes at how awful it sounds. And yet realizing it has become a part of my “normal”.
Normal is each year coming up with the difficult task of how to honor my baby's memory and her birthday and survive these days.
Normal is my heart warming and yet sinking at the sight of something special that my baby would have loved, but how she is not here to enjoy it.
Normal is having some people afraid to mention my baby.
Normal is making sure that others remember her.
Normal is after the funeral is over everyone else goes on with their lives, but wecontinue to grieve our loss forever.
Normal is weeks, months, and years after the initial shock, the grieving gets worse sometimes, not better.
Normal is not listening to people compare anything in their life to this loss, unless they too have lost a child. NOTHING. Even if your child is in the remotest part of the earth away from you – it doesn’t compare. Losing a parent is horrible, but having to bury your own child is unnatural.
Normal is trying not to cry all day, because I know mymental health depends on it.
Normal is realizing I do cry everyday.
Normal is being impatient with everything and everyone, but someone stricken with grief overthe loss of your child.
Normal is a new friendship with another grieving mother, talking and crying together over our children and our new lives.
Normal is not listening to people make excuses for God. “God may have done this because…” I love God, I know that my baby is in heaven, but hearing people trying to think up excuses as to why babies were taken from this earth is not appreciated and makes absolutely no sense to this grieving mother.
Normal is wondering this time how many children you will tell a stranger that you have, because you will never see this person again and it is not worth explaining that my baby is in heaven. And yet when you say you have no children to avoid that problem, you feel horrible as if you have betrayed your baby.
Normal is knowing I will never get over this loss, in a day or a million years.
And last of all, Normal is hiding all the things that have become “normal” for you to feel, so that everyone around you will think that you are “normal”.
Normal for me is trying to decide what to take to the cemetery for Birthdays, Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, Valentine’s Day, July 4th and Easter.
Normal is reliving that day continuously through your eyes and mind.
Normal is every happy event in my life always being backed up with sadness lurking close behind, because of the hole in my heart.
Normal is staring at every baby who looks like she is my baby’s age. And then thinking of the age she would be now and not being able to imagine it. Then wondering why it is even important to imagine it, because it will never happen.
Normal is telling the story of your child’s death as if it were an everyday, commonplace activity, and then seeing the horror in someone’s eyes at how awful it sounds. And yet realizing it has become a part of my “normal”.
Normal is each year coming up with the difficult task of how to honor my baby's memory and her birthday and survive these days.
Normal is my heart warming and yet sinking at the sight of something special that my baby would have loved, but how she is not here to enjoy it.
Normal is having some people afraid to mention my baby.
Normal is making sure that others remember her.
Normal is after the funeral is over everyone else goes on with their lives, but we
Normal is weeks, months, and years after the initial shock, the grieving gets worse sometimes, not better.
Normal is not listening to people compare anything in their life to this loss, unless they too have lost a child. NOTHING. Even if your child is in the remotest part of the earth away from you – it doesn’t compare. Losing a parent is horrible, but having to bury your own child is unnatural.
Normal is trying not to cry all day, because I know my
Normal is realizing I do cry everyday.
Normal is being impatient with everything and everyone, but someone stricken with grief over
Normal is a new friendship with another grieving mother, talking and crying together over our children and our new lives.
Normal is not listening to people make excuses for God. “God may have done this because…” I love God, I know that my baby is in heaven, but hearing people trying to think up excuses as to why babies were taken from this earth is not appreciated and makes absolutely no sense to this grieving mother.
Normal is wondering this time how many children you will tell a stranger that you have, because you will never see this person again and it is not worth explaining that my baby is in heaven. And yet when you say you have no children to avoid that problem, you feel horrible as if you have betrayed your baby.
Normal is knowing I will never get over this loss, in a day or a million years.
And last of all, Normal is hiding all the things that have become “normal” for you to feel, so that everyone around you will think that you are “normal”.
DON"T CRY
unknown author
Daddy please don't look so sad
Mommy please don't cry
Cause I am in the arms of Jesus
and He sings me lullabies.
Mommy please don't cry
Cause I am in the arms of Jesus
and He sings me lullabies.
Please try not to question God
Don't think He is unkind
Don't think he sent me to you
And then he changed his mind
Don't think He is unkind
Don't think he sent me to you
And then he changed his mind
You see, I am a special Child
And I am needed up above
I'm the special gift you gave him
The product of your love
And I am needed up above
I'm the special gift you gave him
The product of your love
I'll always be there with you
And watch the sky at night
Find the brightest star that's gleaming
That's my eyes shining bright
And watch the sky at night
Find the brightest star that's gleaming
That's my eyes shining bright
You'll se me in the morning frost
That mists your windowpane
That's me, in the summer showers
I'll be dancing in the rain
That mists your windowpane
That's me, in the summer showers
I'll be dancing in the rain
When you feel a gentle breeze
From a gentle wind that blows
That's me! I'll be there
Planting a kiss upon your nose
From a gentle wind that blows
That's me! I'll be there
Planting a kiss upon your nose
When you see a child playing
And your heart feels a little tug
That's me! I'll be there
Giving your heart a hug
And your heart feels a little tug
That's me! I'll be there
Giving your heart a hug
So, Daddy please don't look so sad
Mommy don't you cry
I'm in the arms of Jesus
And He sings me lullabies
Mommy don't you cry
I'm in the arms of Jesus
And He sings me lullabies
My Mom is a Survivor
Kaye Des'Ormeaux
My Mom is a survivor,
or so I've heard it said.
But I can hear her crying at night
when all others are in bed.
I watch her lie awake at night
and go to hold her hand.
She doesn't know I'm with her
to help her understand.
But like the sands on the beach
that never wash away...
I watch over my surviving mom,
who thinks of me each day.
She wears a smile for others...
a smile of disguise!
But through Heaven's door I see
tears flowing from her eyes.
My mom tries to cope with death
to keep my memory alive.
But anyone who knows her knows
it is her way to survive.
As I watch over my surviving mom
through Heaven's open door...
I try to tell her that angels
protect me forevermore.
I know that doesn't help her...
or ease the burden she bears.
So if you get a chance, go visit her...
and show her that you care.
For no matter what she says...
no matter what she feels.
My surviving mom has a broken heart
that time won't ever heal.
or so I've heard it said.
But I can hear her crying at night
when all others are in bed.
I watch her lie awake at night
and go to hold her hand.
She doesn't know I'm with her
to help her understand.
But like the sands on the beach
that never wash away...
I watch over my surviving mom,
who thinks of me each day.
She wears a smile for others...
a smile of disguise!
But through Heaven's door I see
tears flowing from her eyes.
My mom tries to cope with death
to keep my memory alive.
But anyone who knows her knows
it is her way to survive.
As I watch over my surviving mom
through Heaven's open door...
I try to tell her that angels
protect me forevermore.
I know that doesn't help her...
or ease the burden she bears.
So if you get a chance, go visit her...
and show her that you care.
For no matter what she says...
no matter what she feels.
My surviving mom has a broken heart
that time won't ever heal.
THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM
By Terry Kettering
There’s an elephant in the room.
It is large and squatting,
so it is hard to get around it.
Yet we squeeze by with,
“How are you?” and, “I’m fine,”
and a thousand other forms of trivial chatter.
We talk about the weather;
we talk about work;
we talk about everything else—
except the elephant in the room.
There’s an elephant in the room.
We all know it is there.
We are thinking about the elephant
as we talk together.
It is constantly on our minds.
For, you see, it is a very big elephant.
It has hurt us all, but we do not talk about
the elephant in the room.
Oh, please, say her name.
Oh, please, say “Barbara” again.
Oh, please, let’s talk about
the elephant in the room.
For if we talk about her death,
perhaps we can talk about her life.
Can I say, “Barbara” to you
and not have you look away?
For if I cannot,
then you are leaving me alone
in a room—with an elephant.
What Makes A Mother
I thought of you and closed my eyes
And prayed to God today
I asked "What makes a Mother?"
And I know I heard him say
A Mother has a baby
This we know is true
But, God, can you be a mother
When your baby's not with you?
Yes, you can he replied
With confidence in his voice
I give many women babies
When they leave it is not their choice
Some I send for a lifetime
And others for the day
And some I send to feel your womb
But there's no need to stay.
I just don't understand this God
I want my baby here
He took a breath
and cleared his throat
And then I saw a tear
I wish I could show you
What your child is doing today
If you could see your child smile
With other children and say
"We go to earth to learn our lessons
of love and life and fear
My mommy loved me so much
I got to come straight here
I feel so lucky to have a Mom who had so much love for me
I learned my lessons very quickly
My Mommy set me free.
I miss my Mommy oh so much
But I visit her each day
When she goes to sleep
On her pillows where I lay
I stroke her hair and kiss her cheek
And whisper in her ear
Mommy don't be sad today
I'm your baby and I am here"
So you see my dear sweet one
Your children are okay
Your babies are here in My home
And this is where they'll stay
They'll wait for you with Me
Until your lessons are through
And on the day you come home
they'll be at the gates for you
So now you see
What makes a Mother
It's the feeling in your heart
It's the love you had so much of
Right from the very start
Though some on earth
May not realize
Until their time is done
Remember all the love you have
And know that you are
A Special Mom
By Terry Kettering
There’s an elephant in the room.
It is large and squatting,
so it is hard to get around it.
Yet we squeeze by with,
“How are you?” and, “I’m fine,”
and a thousand other forms of trivial chatter.
We talk about the weather;
we talk about work;
we talk about everything else—
except the elephant in the room.
There’s an elephant in the room.
We all know it is there.
We are thinking about the elephant
as we talk together.
It is constantly on our minds.
For, you see, it is a very big elephant.
It has hurt us all, but we do not talk about
the elephant in the room.
Oh, please, say her name.
Oh, please, say “Barbara” again.
Oh, please, let’s talk about
the elephant in the room.
For if we talk about her death,
perhaps we can talk about her life.
Can I say, “Barbara” to you
and not have you look away?
For if I cannot,
then you are leaving me alone
in a room—with an elephant.
What Makes A Mother
I thought of you and closed my eyes
And prayed to God today
I asked "What makes a Mother?"
And I know I heard him say
A Mother has a baby
This we know is true
But, God, can you be a mother
When your baby's not with you?
Yes, you can he replied
With confidence in his voice
I give many women babies
When they leave it is not their choice
Some I send for a lifetime
And others for the day
And some I send to feel your womb
But there's no need to stay.
I just don't understand this God
I want my baby here
He took a breath
and cleared his throat
And then I saw a tear
I wish I could show you
What your child is doing today
If you could see your child smile
With other children and say
"We go to earth to learn our lessons
of love and life and fear
My mommy loved me so much
I got to come straight here
I feel so lucky to have a Mom who had so much love for me
I learned my lessons very quickly
My Mommy set me free.
I miss my Mommy oh so much
But I visit her each day
When she goes to sleep
On her pillows where I lay
I stroke her hair and kiss her cheek
And whisper in her ear
Mommy don't be sad today
I'm your baby and I am here"
So you see my dear sweet one
Your children are okay
Your babies are here in My home
And this is where they'll stay
They'll wait for you with Me
Until your lessons are through
And on the day you come home
they'll be at the gates for you
So now you see
What makes a Mother
It's the feeling in your heart
It's the love you had so much of
Right from the very start
Though some on earth
May not realize
Until their time is done
Remember all the love you have
And know that you are
A Special Mom
