(dedicated to a dear friend and her recent loss.)
I wept for you in the middle of the night.
Under the blue spring moon that filled that little corner with silver lines,
I wept because you died.
You were springtime.
You were new life.
You were the blossom in the weeds.
We loved you.
Life is fleeting, but how fleeting it was for you!
You never spoke a word. You never shed a tear.
You never felt joy or laughed or smelled the sweetness of the grass.
You never put your little feet in the ocean or danced in the rain.
Child, how loved you were! How much we wanted to show you!
I wept for you, little flower, because the winter that silenced spring seems so wrong.
This grief seems out of season.
We're afraid to go on,
to discard the tissue that holds the tears I cried for you,
to leave you behind in memories that will fade.
We want to celebrate your life and carry you with us.
But you are not behind us, child.
You have gone before us.
You are singing the songs that our souls have yet to sing.
Your little eyes never fell upon creation,
but now they are lifted always to the Creator.
You, little daughter, are with your Father.
And we lag behind,
moving day by day a little closer to the place where you are.
We will have many more winters
to fall upon moon-lit corners and tears.
But many more springtimes full of fresh rain and new life,
full of little fleeting flowers that will always remind us of you.