My life was short, but sweet. I felt love and comfort, even if at the time, I didn’t realize that was what I was experiencing. There were no words for it then, merely burbles and coos.
Before I came here, to this place of light and peace, my conscience mind wasn’t fully developed. I once knew soft embraces and tender kisses, and then, in the end, there was only darkness.
Toy cars and other trinkets adorn my grave, as if the ones mourning my departure believe I will return to play with them. The gesture helps them cope with their loss, and in some small way, keeps my memory alive. It’s consoling.
I watch them when they visit me now. Almost always there are tears, never a smile remembering a happy moment. It will take a bit longer before that can happen. One day, they will welcome those memories and not dwell on their pain.
Until that day, until I can come home again, I will wait here.
7 thoughts on “Infant memoirs”
A fresh take on an interesting idea – that our loved ones can’t go until we let them. I like the combination of wisdom and childlike simplicity in the voice.
This brought back memories of visiting my second husband’s infant son’s grave. He was born sick and didn’t make it, so there really aren’t any happy memories to cherish. So sad.
Very touching post.
Powerful post. Very touching.
Oh my heart. Losing a child (I think at any age and now I speak from experience, not my own, but of course my mom’s) is so painful. I think we always see them as babies, as those children we rocked to sleep in the crook of our arms, no matter what age they are when they leave us.
I often think that those children that are gone, like Ben, would like us to smile as we remember them. I try to smile as much as I cry.
I could taste my own tears reading your words.
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For a parent to lose a young child must be one of the hardest things in life. Your post reflects this from a different angle, very thought provoking.