IN MEMORY OF
by His Grieving, Loving Sister:
You are so beautiful. You have your fatherís nose, your motherís toes. Your fingers curl instinctively around your mother's forefinger; you cuddle peacefully on your mother's chest, inside her safe, protective arm. Your face snuggles into her, the mother who has carried you these eight months, the woman whose womb was your only home.
We are your family, your kin. We waited eagerly for you, cherished you, loved you. We dreamed of the years we would have together, the years you would toddle behind your sisters and be tormented by your brothers in the grand tradition of friendly brotherhood. We joked about how we would spoil you, the adored last baby of a voluminous family. We laughed over names, debated the merits of different first initials. We counted the days until September, until the day you cried your first shrill cry.
How does a family grieve? How do eleven people lose a son or a brother and remain whole? How will we change? How do we stop crying?
I know that you are with Jesus, safe and warm and happy, and that we will see you again.
And yet my heart cries out -