July's Child

Fireworks race toward heaven

Brilliant colors in the sky.

Their splendor ends in seconds

On this evening in July.

"Her birthday is this Saturday,"

I whisper with a sigh.

She was born this month,

She loved this month

And she chose this month to die.

Like the bright and beautiful fireworks

Glowing briefly in the dark

They are gone too soon, and so was she

Having been, and left her mark.

A glorious incandescent life,

A catalyst, a spark...

Her being gently lit my path

And softened all things stark.

The July birth, the July death of

my happy summer child

Marked a life too brief that ended

Without rancor, without guile.

Like the fireworks that leave images

On unprotected eyes...

Her lustrous life engraved my heart...

With love that never dies.

Sally Migliaccio

TCF Babylon, Long Island, NY

NO VACATION

There is no vacation from your absence.

Every morning I awake I am a bereaved parent.

Every noon I feel the hole in my heart.

Every evening my arms are empty.

My life is busy now, but not quite full.

My heart is mended, but not quite healed.

For the rest of my life

Every moment will be Iived without you.

There is no vacation from your absence.

Missing You

I just can’t believe it…

The sun still rises and sets,

The moon and stars still shine,

The flowers still bloom, The birds still sing.

I expected a change in everything

I just can’t believe it…

It still gets dark and light,

The ocean still has waves,

The rain still rains, The wind still blows,

Is it because they do not know?

I just can’t believe it…

I thought the world would stop

When in my house I found

an empty chair, a missing smile

I thought it would stop For just a while.

I just can’t believe it…

--Gretta Viney, TCF, Yakima, WA

Are Like a Rose

When a child dies,

our memories are held tightly

with lots of pain,

just like the tightly folded

petals of the rose bud

with the many thorns

to stick and prick

causing pain.

As we talk about our child

and share memories

with others,

we begin to open

ourselves to healing

as the rose petals

start to open

ever so gradually.

Just as a rose

becomes more beautiful

as it blooms,

so, do the memories

of our child.

Yes, the thorns

are still there

and will hurt

when touched,

but oh, how beautiful the rose

and oh, how beautiful

the memory of our children!

Share the memory of your child

so that memory can start to bloom

to become as beautiful as the rose.

--Julie Timmerman, TCF, Tulsa, OK