| Grief Poems |
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| These pages contain poems submitted by the Grieving Moms that visit us, and a few of my own. If you would like to add a poem to this page just e-mail it to me at for_grieving_moms@yahoo.com I update this page frequently, so your work will be posted as soon as I receive it. If anyone would like to copy or use any of the poetry on our site, please do, but please include the author's name. I stress this because we have found that many of our Moms poems have later been published on the internet, in newspapers, etc, but sadly, were printed as "author unknown". This does an injustice to the Moms that have shared their poetry with us, as well as their children deserving to be remembered. It's just the right thing to do. Thank you for your cooperation in this, and for sharing your heartfelt poetry with us.. Kelly Cummings |
| You may also add your poems to our guest book, and I can copy them from there. Be sure to include your e-mail address and url so our visitors can visit your pages as well. |
| Mother and Child |
| I was there. I sat with you the vigil through days and nights, pleading with heaven that I might take your place. Heaven did not want me, but you, my beautiful boy. I was there. I held your still hand, never to clasp mine again, as it so often did when you were small.. How is it then, that I look for you in every crowd? The breeze blows open my door, I turn to see if you are there. Footsteps approaching, I raise my eyes expecting to see you, hands in pockets, all smiles. Then I remember anew, that heaven has taken you. My boy, my boy, that you could sing to me just one more song. That I could hold you in my arms once again, if only for a moment. How is it that I see you around every corner? How is it that I hear your voice upon the evening breeze? That lovely gossamer thread, that binds mother and child together, That part of me that was you, the part of you that was me, Is still tightly woven together my son, I hear you on the breeze because you sing still, out of heaven . That gossamer thread will lead me home to you, wait for me my darling boy. I love you. -Mommy |
| I brought a picture So they would know That under this mass of ventilator hoses, and IV lines, and wires, and tape, and more tape, that my boy was there. Like a fell wind, they’d blow in, And do some torturous thing, In front of me to you. How I hated them. How I needed them. Efficient , cold, offering no hope, settled in their minds that you would die, they saw no need for words. I caught him you know, The respiratory guy, the one who scared me, the one who was so rough, I caught him telling the nurse it was stupid To do all this, just to keep you alive. He said it while standing right next to your bed, right where you could hear. I wanted to hit him, to push him down. I walked in and looked in his eyes And moved your picture closer to the bed. I brought your picture so they would know How you look when you smile. How I waited, to hear just one of them call you honey, or sweetheart as they did their nightmarish tasks. Any small sign to show that they understood that you were a mother’s son. Oh so efficient. How I hated them. Six days my darling boy, six days standing at the rail of that bed. Then, on your very last night, in the little nurse came, the one who had been gentle with you. She sat, instead of running about the room. Sat right next to me. It seemed she had something to say. I was afraid to hear. No more bad news. But she turned and looked at me, and pushing her glasses up onto her forehead, she reached for your picture, and held it, and began to weep. I am so sorry for you, she said. I go home And pray for your son every night. My son is the same age you see. And she sat with me, all the long night, Until you were gone. And she called you honey. I brought your picture so they would know. Kelly Cummings 2002 |
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| Jesus lead me in the darkness, lead me to your light, please take away my pain that worsens in the night. When I search the net when the world is all asleep, You lead me to read things that makes my heart a-leap. I'm finding "gifts" these days that have no financial gain, these gifts give calm and comfort and help take away the pain. When all is said and done, the journey's taken me here, to a place where I am more accepting of your truth, which tells me do not fear. In those dark moments when I forget that you are, after all, the potter, please let your spirit fill my soul, like a sponge in need of water. I ask you for gifts of the spiritual kind to lighten my heavy load, so please Jesus, just one more request, give me the patience to wait for you as I walk this lonely road. Alice Stephens - Nov. 2002 - Mum to Colin |
| Empty Chair |
| Written by Kelly Cummings, My first Christmas without my son Josh |
| The holidays have come around, But the house has no familiar sounds, No whispers in corners Of what might be, Waiting for someone under the tree. Your brother, your sister, Are just not the same, They smile sadly, as they Mention your name. They do their best to cheer one another, But in their eyes they are saying "I miss my brother". I stand in the kitchen, and hum to myself, As I bring the ingredients down from the shelf To make holiday cookies, Like all the years past When you were here, they never did last But that's what made baking them fun, You know, It was always because You loved them so. Preparing the turkey, I started to think Of the way you'd stand peering into the sink Every year when I'd do this, unwrap this big bird "Oh man, that's disgusting", were your favorite words. Then I'd wiggle the legs at you, Like the turkey was dancing, And we'd look at each other, And both break out laughing. But this year I stood at the sink alone, Remembering these moments, and trying to hide From everyone as I wiggled the legs And instead of laughing, I cried. Christmas morning came, and we opened our gifts With a measure of holiday cheer, But I could not stop missing the way the way that you would Always hang your new socks From your ears, Making me laugh, Year after year. As evening fell we gathered round The holiday table to share Our Christmas meal, this time we all love And I truly did try, I swear, But I simply could not, try as I might Bear the sight of your empty chair. I miss you my son I love you my boy Why is it that we are apart? I know of nothing that will ever fill The hole in this mother's heart. Kelly Cummings 12/27/2002 |
| What a Grieving Mother Really Thinks |
| Hello old friend, Oh yes you know I lost my child a while ago. No, no please Don’t look away And change the subject It’s ok. You see at first I couldn’t feel, It took so long, but now it’s real. I hurt so much inside you see I need to talk, Come sit with me? You see, I was numb for so very long, And people said, “My, She is so strong.” They did not know I couldn’t feel, My broken heart made all unreal. But then one day, as I awoke I clutched my chest, began to choke, Such a scream, such a wail, Broke from me.. My child! My child! The horror of reality. But everyone has moved on, you see, everyone except for me. Now, when I need friends most of all, Between us there now stands a wall. My pain is more than they can bear, When I mention my child, I see their blank stare. “But I thought you were over it,” Their eyes seem to say, No, no, I can’t listen to this, not today. So I smile and pretend, and say, “Oh, I’m ok”. But inside I am crying, as I turn away. And so my old friend, I shall paint on a smile, As I have from the start, You never knowing all the while, All I’ve just said to you in my heart. |
| Written by Kelly Cummings |
| I Brought Your Picture |
| Written by Kelly Cummings |
| By Kelly Cummings |
| GRANDMOTHER, WHEN YOUR CHILD DIED Grandmother, when your child died hot beside you in your narrow bed, His labored breathing kept you restless and woke you when it sighed, and stopped. You held him through the bitter dawn and in the morning dressed him, combed his hair, your tears welled, but you didn't weep until at last he lay among the wild iris in the sod, his soul gone inexplicably to God. Amen But grandmother, when my child died sweet Jesus, he died hard. A motor beside his sterile cot groaned, and hissed, and whirred while he sang his pain-- low notes and high notes in slow measures slipping through the drug-cloud. My tears, redundant, dropped slow like glucose or blood from a bottle. And when he died my eyes were dry and gods wearing white coats turned away. Joan Neet George |
| This poem was sent to me from my dear Aunt Mary after the death of my son. The author understood what it is to watch the slow and agonizing death of a child on life support. |
| A loving gift of Rose's, just one can say it all, To stand upon time's table, until the petals fall, To draw the sun of morning, but no more to feel the dew, On the other side of rose's, I hurt from losing you On the other side of rose's with broken dreams and tears, Not a shadow of despair, to recall, the precious years, Alive I seen a rose in you, and feel your memory true, On the other side of rose's, My life I shared with you With petals gone to fade away, but leave sweet memories, A velvet touch straight from the heart, With love shown for me, As shadows pass with setting sun, There will forever be, On the other side of rose's, Your loving memory Thank you Billy M. Smallwood |
| Little Ditty for a support group "junkie" Chat rooms, grief books, support emails, some heavy and some light, have kept me from feeling isolated especially late into the night. As I sit at my computer by the window reading and responding to my "new kin," passerby neighbors who may see me have no idea what lies within. Outward appearances are so deceptive, I have to give a smile, but I get such comfort here in this transparent world, if only for a while. My new unseen friends are a lot like me, and they span across the globe, It's amazing how comfortable I am "chatting" with them as I sit here in my robe! Inventions may come and go and we all have our favorite one, For me it's the Internet which I use to help me deal with the loss of my son. I'll send this little ditty to all my friends who I'll never get to meet but on whom I lean, And I'd like to say thank you and God bless us all, who read this on their screen. Alice Stephens Colin Stephens mum |
| A Mother's Grief by Kelly Cummings You ask me how I'm feeling, but do you really want to know? The moment I try telling you You say you have to go How can I tell you, what it's been like for me I am haunted, I am broken By things that you don't see You ask me how I'm holding up, but do you really care? The moment I start to speak my heart, You start squirming in your chair. Because I am so lonely, you see, friends no longer come around, I'll take the words I want to say And quietly choke them down. Everyone avoids me now, I guess they don't know what to say They told me I'll be there for you, then turned and walked away. Call me if you need me, that's what everybody said, But how can I call and scream into the phone, My God, my child is dead? No one will let me say the words I need to say Why does a mothers grief scare everyone away? I am tired of pretending my heart hammers in my chest, I say things to make you comfortable, but my soul finds no rest. How can I tell you things that are too sad to be told, of the helplessness of holding a child who in your arms grows cold? Maybe you can tell me, How should one behave, who's had to follow their childs casket, watched it perched above a grave? You cannot imagine what it was like for me that day to place a final kiss upon that box, and have to turn and walk away. If you really love me, and I believe you do, if you really want to help me, here is what I need from you. Sit down beside me, reach out and take my hand, Say "My friend, I've come to listen, I want to understand." Just hold my hand and listen that's all you need to do, And if by chance I shed a tear, it's alright if you do to. I swear that I'll remember till the day I'm very old, the friend who sat and held my hand and let me bare my soul. Kelly Cummings 12/8/03 |
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| This poem is about what it's like to see your child on life support, slowly slipping away. |
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