6 weeks

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6 Weeks

Six weeks old, innocent infant girl,

Reaching out tiny, seeking fingers,

To grasp at a new and unfamiliar world,

To hold on to mother, source of life.

Six weeks old, helpless newborn,

Pulling back a tiny and empty fist,

Confused by this harsh and cruel world,

Learning too soon how fragile life is.

Golden rays of sun pour through ornate stained glass

Trying to wrap a somber event in rainbow colors.

Incense fills the air, mingling with strains of organ music,

Loved one with offerings of tears sit shoulder to shoulder.

A priest’s choked and cracking voice promises hope of 

Eternity…

But how do we live through tomorrow?

In six short weeks of being mother and child

Unbounded love was given and received.

But was it enough?

How can the question of, “Where’s mommy?” be answered

When that day arrives.

This poem, penned by my husband Dave, was written over thirty years ago, after being at the funeral of his fun-loving, joyous and intelligent cousin.  It remains one of my favorite poems for several reasons.  In a short amount of time I am able to visualize the event because of his choice of words.  It is also an event where it creates questions in the reader’s mind.  “Who is this person? How was that horrible question answered? Why did this occur?”  When tragic events occur, we want happiness to visit also.  Many of us want that fairy tale ending and sadly that is not the reality of life on earth.  We live with  the hope of heaven. I would have difficulty taking a step forward without that knowledge.

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About Judson RISE professor

lifelong teacher who is semi-retired (does this sound better?) who loves God, family and laughing... who hates social injustice... who wants to write every day... who needs to exercise every day... who blog hops... who wants to live her everyday life led by her savior, Jesus Christ!

4 responses »

  1. Read the first four lines in a preview pane, having warm motherly love kind of thoughts–thinking of the joys of holding an infant and feeling that tiny hand reaching out to love and be comforted. Boy was I dismayed when I read on. What a sad and tragic poem–life cut short, so sad. Your husband and you are both writers.

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