Child,
Do you know that your parents’ concern
Is ever about you?
On the sickbed, unable to stand, a mother signals,
“Find that poem about my child and share it with Angela.”
The poem is printed on her child’s funeral program.
It sits near her mother’s bedside.
Another sits on her father’s desk, accessible with the right hand.
Child,
Your mother’s heart breaks for you.
Even gestures from close friends are too painful for her to bear.
You don’t see it, nor can you:
Her house is closed,
A mirror to your lonely place.
Child,
You left and she didn’t know she could go on.
You were her reason for living for so long.
She is finding strength on her own now, and she is radiant.
Moving forward, she keeps pace with you, hundreds of miles away.
And oh, time goes so slowly!
Child,
With love your mother allows you to come back home.
You are wounded, not healing, and raw.
You don’t tell her how you really feel;
Somehow all the words you can say are hurtful.
She knows her love is not enough to heal you;
And prays that you will find your true Savior.
Child,
We gave your mother a quilt today
To help her to know that we remember you, too.
She places it on her lap
And tells us of a tree planted in your honor:
The soldier who didn’t come home.
She will remember you long after the tree is gone,
The infant face, the boyish tricks, and songs from a teen–
Woven together in every contour of her heart.
Child,
You left today on an errand for the Lord,
I came to your mother
And she was crying, but she will be fine.
You are doing the thing that will make her happiest.
I will watch over her until you come home again
And can hug her yourself.
Child,
You are beautiful in your wedding clothes.
Your mother, tired from preparations, looks radiant.
She will put her feet up tonight, cry a few tears, and smile.
And as ever,
You will be the instrument drawing her thoughts to the future.
For mothers of faith, the future always includes you, Child.
No matter what.
