Layton and Samara

This morning, I woke up sad. Sometimes anniversary days don't really get to me. This one did. I had a hard time concentrating this morning at work. I called Tim and cried. I called Ruth, Layton's mom, to see how she was doing today. I was trying to read a book on spiritual mentoring and I was reading words without comprehending. I was listening to some lovely version of 'Blackbird singin' in the dead of night...' from a compilation CD Tracy made me for my birthday a few years ago. And it hit me. A poem. I need to write a poem about today. I already posted it on Samara's care page, but I want it recorded here as well. It didn't take long to write...

The love of my heart.
The fruit of my womb.

On the same long advent day strung apart by years,
you both lay in the same building.

Whirring machines breathing your breath and beating your heart -
A whirring machine looking inside you

as you slept an unnatural sleep.

"He's going."
"She has cancer."

I'll never forget what you felt like in my arms that day.

How warm you were.
How heavy you were.
How still you were.
How light you were.

I lost you that day.
I thought I was losing you that day.

I let you go... into the Father's keeping.

And now you dance and have your being in a place or time or dimension
so far away, or perhaps so close?
Perhaps as close as you - who dance in winter boots
and holiday dress by the Christmas tree.

A saint above.

A saint below.

You are healed.

O Child of God, I miss you. And I will see you someday...
O Child of God, I miss you.
And I will see you this afternoon, after work.

Your mothers' arms long to hold you
on this long advent day.

I'll never forget what you felt like in my arms that day.

How warm you were.
How heavy you were.
How still you were.
How light you were.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

This picture was taken a year ago today,
just after her CT scan and just before we found out Samara had cancer.
Around my neck, I'm wearing Layton's wedding ring -
- as I do every December from the 8th until the 11th.