What kind of place would heaven be with all its streets of gold, if all the souls, that dwell up there like yours and mine, were old? How strange would heaven’s music sound when harps begin to ring, if children were not gathered ‘round to help the angels sing. The children that God sends to us are only just a loan, He knows we need their
sunshine to make the house a home. We need the inspiration of a baby’s blessed smile. He doesn’t say they’ve come to stay, just lends them for a while. Sometimes it takes them years to do the work for which they come. Sometimes in just a month or two our Father calls them home. I like to think some souls up there bear not one sinful scar. I love to think of heaven as a place where children are.
Go ahead and Mention my child,
The one that died, you know.
Don't worry about hurting me further.
The depth of my pain doesn't show.
Don't worry about making me cry.
I'm already crying inside.
Help me heal by releasing
The tears that I try and hide.
I'm hurt when you just keep silent,
Pretending he didn't exist.
I'd rather you mention my child,
Knowing that he has been missed.
You asked me how I was doing.
I say "pretty good" or "fine"
But healing is something ongoing.
I feel it will take a lifetime.
I hate it that people dont like to talk to me about my son. Of course I want to hear his name, I want to talk of him, He's my son. What kind of mother doesnt like to talk about her child? even though he;s gone im still his mommy and hes still my baby.