The only person that would ever be able to make me complete again is a little boy lost to life. He was beyond precious and irreplaceable. I named him Daniel Hugo Starbuck.
I know I say the words "thank you" over and over but it is so important to me that you know how much it means to me that you are here. You are one of my angels and you bring soothing ointment to drip onto this cut in my soul. You help to ease my pain.
You give me:
I also receive special gifts from my angel child, to dry my tears and make me smile.
Daniel gives to me:
Sweet happy memories
His whisper in the wind
Dreams of him still being alive
Imaginations of how it was to hold him
Oh, how much I think of a blissful happy reunion in the after life but I honestly don't know.
I have always been driven by equal portions of realism and religion. I see our insight and knowledge of what really happen when we die as earthly and limited.
How much of what we like to believe about heaven has been created by our human selves?
Would a mother survive her child's death without the idea that death isn't final? Would a grieving mother be able to cope without the belief that the heart wrecking separation is only temporary? I say no, she wouldn't.
I live to die, clinging desperately to the hope that I will one day, one life from here, find my lost child.
My heart holds no cynicism. Only love.