Mommy, don’t cry, ’cause God is holding my hand
and telling me everything is OK.
Mommy, God said that I will never want for anything
and I will still feel your love all the way up here.
Mommy, you should see me,
I am running and playing with God’s other children.
Mommy, guess who helps watch over us while we play?
They are God’s Helping Angels!
Mommy, I’m not afraid, my grandpa and grandma are here.
They came to me when it was dark and held my hands;
then we went to God’s bright light,
where Angels were singing.
Mommy, God said, If you feel sad, to remember this;
I’ll be the gentle breeze that brushes your face,
the sun is my smile and the rain is me washing away your pain.
Mommy, I have to go now.
I send you all my love on the wings of an Angel.
Love from your son, to you Mommy.
( by Sandra L. Garman)
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Upon learning that my four-year-old son,
Richard, has cystic fibrosis,
I was in shock, then I mourned.
Finally I became furious and fought back.
Franticly every night I would call everywhere
Looking for help; there was none.
One night after several long and agonizing
Phone calls pleading for help,
Richard came into the room
And said, “Mommy I know who you work for.”
With some trepidation,
I posed the question back to him,
“Who, Richard?”
“Sixty-five roses,” he said with a smile.
I went to him and tenderly pressed his tiny body
To mine so he could not see
The tears running down my cheeks.
I was amazed since I had never told him
That he has advanced liver cancer.
Then as I hugged him, I realized
He couldn’t pronounce cystic fibrosis,
So now every time, for the past thirty-eight years,
As I visit Richard, I smile and cry as I gaze upon
A seven-year-old’s gravestone
That reads “sixty-five roses.”
Richard, it has been thirty-eight poignant years to the day
That is why “sixty-five roses” on your grave we placed today
Then on our knees we got and silently prayed,
No,not for you our sweetie
For we know you’re safe in heaven
But for daddy and I,
Whose hearts have never mended.
We want to thank you Richard and need to apologize,
We stood by your grave today and told you our reaons why.
“Sixty-five roses” lay beautifully upon your grave
To signify the illness that took your life away
We always knew this is the place
Where in your youth you’d lay
And all we asked and wanted is for it to be maintained.
Many people loved you and many heard our plea,
For each time we come to visit
We find things placed anonymously.
“Sixty-five roses”
We placed there today
“Sixty-five roses” is what took you away.
We didn’t know much about this killer disease at first but we do now.
While doing research for our son Richard, who had cystic fibrosis.
My husband and I read, over 30,000 children a year die from it.
The children are so young that they are unable to pronounce cystic fibrosis.
So they call there disease “sixty-five roses”
This moved us,
Enough to both support and contribute to finding a cure
And to tell you about the disease; our little boy heard as,
“Sixty-five roses” - cystic fibrosis.
Easy to say as “sixty-five roses”,
Difficult to cure as cystic fibrosis.
( by John Faucett)
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It seems as if yesterday
you held out your hand
for a walk in the park
a play in the sand
I know it was just last night
I tucked you in bed
saying our prayers
with a kiss on the head
Sometimes I wonder why you had to go
But the answer to this I already know
So much suffering just can’t go on
I finally had realized what I knew all along
I had so much to say
I Love You’s to tell
I started to slip
and I almost fell
But I kept on moving
one day at a time
My memories kept going
on and on I’m my mind
The day you were born
Your first big girl bike
I know you put these there
for me to keep in sight
I know you are with me
each hour and minute
I feel you around me
There seems to be no limit
So my darling daughter
I want you to know
I miss you and Thank You
for helping me let you go
( by Jessica L. Gray)
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“I’ll lend you for a little time a child of mine,” He said.
“For you to love the while he lives and mourn when he is dead,
“It may be six or seven years, or twenty-two or three,
“But will you, till I call him back, take care of him for me?
“He’ll bring his charms to gladden you, but should his stay be brief,
“You’ll have his lovely memories, as solace for your grief,
“I cannot promise he will stay, since all from earth return,
“But there are lessons taught down there I want this child to learn.
“I’ve looked the wide world over in my search for teachers true,
“And from the throngs that crowd life’s lanes I have selected you.
“Now will you give him all your love, nor think the labor vain,
“Nor hate me when I come to call to take him back again?
I fancied that I heard them say: “Dear Lord, Thy will be done!
“For all the joy Thy child shall bring, the risk of grief we’ll run.
We’ll shelter him with tenderness; we’ll love him while we may,
And for happiness we’ve known forever grateful stay.
“But should the angels call for him much sooner than we’d planned,
“We’ll brave the bitter grief that comes and try to understand.”
(by Edgar Guest)
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Misty breeze wraps about my shoulders, thinly clad.
I shiver not, despite the coolness on my skin.
Comfort, I now feel.
Is it you my precious Angel?
Are you there? I cannot hear your quiet voice,
But bird song fills the air
From high treetops to grassy marsh.
I wonder – is it you, Dear? Are you there?
The roses in your garden bloom large,
And varied in hue from crimson deep, to barely pink.
I cup the velvet bud, its fragrance soothes a troubled mind.
This must be you, my little girl. Are you there?
Are you the fiery autumn maples,
Or the star-like flakes of snow?
Are you the sparkle in the water of the lake that we both loved,
Or, perhaps, the warmth I feel in the sand beneath my toes?
Though your quiet voice I cannot hear,
Nor can I see again your sparkling eyes,
Or feel your dainty hand laid gently on my own,
You are here.
For memory’s book will never close –
Each lovely sound, or sight, or scent,
Another page from special times that we have shared.
Oh, yes! You are here child – everywhere!
( by Diane Robertson)
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