At night, there are tears that come
out of the walls,
the soft fall of my pillow.
Tears come, sometimes wet.
Mostly, they are silent.
Quiet blows to my heart, as my mind races,
wanting yesterday back.
But it is months later now.
The moon has shown its light
and disappeared many, many times.
The wind howls,
symmetrical cries of loss.
Only winter seems appropriate.
So coldness comes, leaves fall.
The birds all fly away.
The ground, hard and lifeless.
No more flowers.
No more soft petals or seeds falling,
fertilizing, giving life.
The firewood is dry. Burns easily.
Smoke. We all see smoke.
This life that has become a cauldron of fire
none of us can feel.
There's only mommy, dropping silent tears,
And daddy. Holding us. Always holding us,
with strength he does not have,
We all cry, baby girl.
In our own ways.
Our own ways.
The world cries with us,
praying to a similar or different God.
Beautiful strangers who love you.
Begging the Saints to heal you.
And we are so grateful, Sarah Jane.
That you live, smile. Are.
No one can disturb your perfection,
your beauty, your grace.
You are divine.
Always remember. At every sunrise,
You were knitted in my womb.
From daddy. From mommy.
Miracle child, our masterpiece.
No matter the outcome.
Whatever may be.
Your soul is a precious rain,
always feeding us, continuing.
that reflection of God,
is given to us
in the beauty of your eyes.
In your hands, that clutch my hair.
You are inside of us all, healing us.
With your courage, your strength.
As we, prayer warriors, continue,
Believing. That we are healing you.
there are no mistakes in this world.
No wrong turns or
You are as God has meant you to be.
Today, just as
the day you were born.
Always precious. Always knowing,
knowing everything has it purpose.
Even as we cry.
Even, as we ask,