#mourning, Uncategorized

Harriet Inez

For Those Who Mourn
By Paul Buckingham
Just one of those quiet, aged sisters
Who touched your soul with her smile;
Slowly, unpretentiously she moved about
Keeping commandments,
Attending,
Serving.
She is
Someone’s daughter,
Someone’s mother,
Someone’s wife,
Now a widow,
Dead.
And few notice her passing.
There is no crowded chapel,
No rippled shock of grief
Through generations of humanity—
Just a quiet, undecorated,
Mildly celebrated
Death.
Her obituary notice falls
In yesterday’s trash,
The funeral flowers wilt and dry.
But in the
Heart of heaven
There are kisses on her cheek,
Embraces,
For a cherished spirit has returned,
A prized daughter is crowned,
Glorified.
And I suspect it was such a
Quiet death
Because we could not hear the
Celebration of her
Arrival.
This gives me comfort this night. Tonight, I think of my youngest child. My dear sweet daughter whom was never really mine. She was created from pain and suffering, and survived because I pleaded with God to give her life. She was willing to just obtain her body then go back home.
I know not if she is alive or dead. I had to give her to someone who had prayed for a child and could not have her own. She came to me unexpected, and at that time not wanted. Yet, when she came forth, how could I not love her and want her. A neighbor’s son married me so the name on her birth certificate would never bring her shame. Yet, she was not his either.
On the 9th of April she was born in body. I still mourn for what might have been if I had only had a righteous husband to love and protect me from evil. But then, if I had that man, she never would have been born. She came during the course of a few nights and days from wicked men who broke into my home.
I mourn for my own children, whom I never was allowed to love and raise. Yet, I do not mourn for them, as I know they were blessed while out of my keep. They were able to love each other and nurture each other. My daughter was mother to my son when I could not be.
My world may be different than yours, but we are all different, aren’t we?
I love my children through all eternity, yet they are not mine. They belong to God, just as I do. I pray they learned of Him.
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#Christian, #Depression, #Hope, #loss, #love, #Meditation

For those who mourn

For Those Who Mourn
By Paul Buckingham

Just one of those quiet, aged sisters
Who touched your soul with her smile;
Slowly, unpretentiously she moved about
Keeping commandments,
Attending,
Serving.
She is
Someone’s daughter,
Someone’s mother,
Someone’s wife,
Now a widow,
Dead.

And few notice her passing.
There is no crowded chapel,
No rippled shock of grief
Through generations of humanity—
Just a quiet, undecorated,
Mildly celebrated
Death.

Her obituary notice falls
In yesterday’s trash,
The funeral flowers wilt and dry.
But in the
Heart of heaven
There are kisses on her cheek,
Embraces,
For a cherished spirit has returned,
A prized daughter is crowned,
Glorified.
And I suspect it was such a
Quiet death
Because we could not hear the
Celebration of her
Arrival.

This gives me comfort this night. Tonight, I think of my youngest child. My dear sweet daughter whom was never really mine. She was created from pain and suffering, and survived because I pleaded with God to give her life. She was willing to just obtain her body then go back home.

I know not if she is alive or dead. I had to give her to someone who had prayed for a child and could not have her own. She came to me unexpected, and at that time not wanted. Yet, when she came forth, how could I not love her and want her. A neighbor’s son married me so the name on her birth certificate would never bring her shame. Yet, she was not his either.

On the 9th of April she was born in body. I still mourn for what might have been if I had only had a righteous husband to love and protect me from evil. But then, if I had that man, she never would have been born. She came during the course of a few nights and days from wicked men who broke into my home.

I mourn for my own children, whom I never was allowed to love and raise. Yet, I do not mourn for them, as I know they were blessed while out of my keep. They were able to love each other and nurture each other. My daughter was mother to my son when I could not be.

My world may be different than yours, but we are all different, yet the same, aren’t we?

I shall love my children through all eternity, yet they are not mine. They belong to God, just as I do. I pray they learned of Him.

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