Conference moira::parenting

    
    That is beautiful...thanks for sharing!
    

Special children really are special. Thanks for posting. It's hanging in my
cube.

Chris

    Of course I dearly love my daughter.  I feel very fortunate that she
    is part of my life.  And I like to think that I am doing a wonderful
    job of being her mother.
    
    But that poem says something entirely different to me.  I know that
    some people find comfort in it, but this topic has come up several
    times with other challenged parents that I have met.  One of these
    parents is a local minister and he winces every time some well-meaning
    person gives him that poem.
    
    Here's my problem with it.  It says that an all-powerful God somehow
    singled me out because of my own worthiness for a challenged child.  
    If an all-powerful God did that, the all-powerful God could also fix
    the challenging problem in the first place.  Many children with special
    needs go through a lot of suffering, physically and emotionally -- even
    in the best of families.  I don't think it's truth to say that God sits
    up there and decides to inflict pain and suffering on children.
    
    Also, I've met some pretty rotten parents with special needs kids.  Did
    God also sit on his throne and decide that they should have this 
    experience?
    
    This poem is invalidating.  Parents of challenged children have some very
    real pain to work through.  And this poem is confusing.  Its message
    is "You have been picked--because of your goodness--to go through this
    painful experience.  But you should really be happy about it."  What a
    contradiction!
    
    When I first learned of my daughter's extra chromosome the grief was
    more intense than a close friend's death.  I needed to just be with
    that pain, not deny it, not say "but gee, I should really feel good
    because God picked me for this."
    
    If you get something out of this poem, that's wonderful, but please 
    remember before you copy it and give it out -- not everyone likes it.
        
    

The UnBarry Column

	It's 6 p.m., and we're waiting for our 12-year-old son,
Rob, to return from a quick bike ride. We're going to go out to
dinner to celebrate the fact that, for the l,000th consecutive
night, we have figured out an excuse to not cook at home.
	We' re locking up the house when a young man comes to the
door and asks if we have a son.
	"There's been an accident," he says.
	"Is it bad?" Beth asks.
	"There's blood everywhere," he says.

	***

	Sometimes I wonder if parenthood is such a good idea.
Sometimes I envy fish and frogs and lobsters and other animals
that just emit their young in egg form, then swim or hop or
lobster-scoot away from the scene, free of responsibility, immune
from anguish. I can remember when there was nobody in my world as
important to me as me. Oh, I loved other people -- my wife, my
family, my friends -- and I would have been distraught if
something bad happened to them. But I knew I'd still be here. And
that was the really important thing.
	Rob changed that. Right at birth. When he came out,
looking like a cranky old prune, he didn't cry. Beth, instantly a
mom, kept saying, through her haze of labor pain,  "Why isn't he
crying? Why isn't he crying?" The nurse said sometimes they don't
cry, but I could see that the doctor thought something was wrong,
because he was trying to do something with Rob's mouth, and he was
having trouble. He whispered something to the nurse and took Rob
away, and the nurse kept saying this was routine, but we knew it
wasn't. I stood there, wearing my goofy hospital outfit, holding
Beth's hand, trying to cope with two staggering thoughts: First, I
had a child -- I HAD A CHILD -- and second, MAYBE MY CHILD WAS IN
TROUBLE.
	That was the most sickeningly vulnerable feeling I'd ever
felt.
	And I didn't even know Rob yet.
	It turned out he was OK -- just a little blockage. The
doctor gave him back to us, and we quickly became traditional
first-time parents, wrapped in a woozy cocoon of joy and
exhaustion, taking a genuine intellectual interest in poop,
marveling at the thrill we felt, the CONNECTION, when our son's
tiny hand squeezed our fingers.
	But the feeling of vulnerability didn't go away. It only
got worse, always lurking inside, forcing me to accept that I
wasn't in control anymore, not when I knew my universe could be
trashed at any moment because of unpredictable, uncontrollable
developments on this newborn comet, zooming through. When he was
happy, I was happier than I'd ever been, but when he was in
trouble ... I can remember every detail of the time when, at 10
months, he got a bad fever, 106 degrees, his tiny body burning,
and I carried him into the hospital, thinking I CAN'T TAKE THIS,
PLEASE, LET ME BE ABLE TO STOP THIS, PLEASE, GIVE ME THIS FEVER,
TAKE IT OUT OF THIS LITTLE BOY AND PUT IT IN ME, PLEASE. ...
	But you can't do that. You can't make it happen to you.
You have to watch it happen to your child, and it never gets any
easier, does it?

	***

	Now Beth and I are in the car, and I'm driving too fast,
but I have to; I have to see what I don't want to see. Up ahead
some people are gathered on the side of the road, and a woman is
kneeling -- she has blood on her dress, a lot of blood -- and
lying in front of her, on his back, his face covered with blood is...
	"Oh God,"  says  Beth.   "Oh God."
	This is where it ends, for some parents. Right here, on
the roadside. My heart breaks for these parents. I don't know that
I could survive it.
	Now I'm opening the door, stumbling out of the car toward
Rob. He's moving his right hand. HE'S WAVING AT ME. He's giving me
a weak, bloody smile, trying to reassure me.
	"It's my fault," he's saying.  "I'm sorry. It's my fault."
	"It's  OK!"  I'm saying.  "It's OK!"
	PLEASE LET IT BE OK.
	"I'm sorry," the bloody-dress woman is saying.  "I'm so
sorry." She was driving the car that collided with Rob. He went
through the windshield, then was thrown back out onto the road, 40
feet, according to the ambulance guys.
	"This is my worst nightmare," the woman is saying.
	"I'm sorry," Rob is saying.
	"It's OK!" I'm saying.  "You're going to be OK!"
	PLEASE.
	
	***

	He was OK. A broken leg, some skin scraped off, a lot of
stitches, but nothing that won't heal. He'll be getting out of his
cast in a couple of months, getting on with his ever-busier life,
his friends, his school, his stuff; he'll be growing bigger,
moving faster, this bright comet-boy who streaked into my universe
12 years ago and is already starting to arc his way back out,
farther from me, from my control, from my sight.
	But that little hand will never let go of my finger.

	***


	I'm sorry. This was supposed to be a hilarious column
about how Beth and I were getting ready to go out for a nice
dinner at 6 p.m. and wound up eating lukewarm cheeseburgers at 11
p.m. on a table in the Miami Children's Hospital emergency room;
and how Rob, after politely thanking a very nice nurse for helping
him sit up, threw up on her; and other comical events. But this is
how the column turned out. Next week I promise to return to Booger
Journalism.
	In closing, here's a Public Service Message for you young
readers from Rob Barry, who won't be walking for a while, but can
still operate a keyboard:
	"I know that bike helmets look really nerdy, and that was
my argument. But I don't think I'll ever say that again. Make SURE
you wear your helmets."

(C) 1993 THE MIAMI HERALD
DISTRIBUTED BY TRIBUNE MEDIA SERVICES, INC.


    

	Ahem...

	Sitting at my desk in tears.  I wanna go home and hug my daugther.

My son, at age 10, had a similar accident. Nothing in my life has ever compared
to the lump in my throat when the officer on the other end of the line said,
"Mr. Gilbert, your son has been in an accident." 

Everytime I hear of a parent who has had to endure harm to a child I relive
those nightmarish moments between that conversation and the moment I saw and
was able to understand that he was okay. 

Nothing is more precious than life, except the life of your own children.

    To discuss bicycle safety, please go to note 290.
    
    Thanks,
    Laura
    co-mod

This was forwarded to me so thought I'd share it with this conference!
    
    
                             A Touch of Love


You were six months old and full of fun
With a blink of my eye, you were suddenly one.

There were so many things we were going to do,
But I turned my head and you turned two.

At two you were very dependent on me,
But independence took over when you turned three.

Your third birthday, another year I tried to ignore,
But when I lit the candles, there weren't three, but four.

Four was the year that you really strived.
Why, look at you now, you're already five

Now you are ready for books and for rules.
This is the year that you go to school.

The big day came, you were anxious to go.
We walked to the bus, going oh, so slow.

As you climbed aboard and waved goodbye,
I felt a lump in my throat and tears stung my eyes.

Time goes so fast, it's hard to believe
That just yesterday you were home here with me.

And tomorrow when the bus brings you home
and you jump to the ground,
You'll be wearing your cap and your graduation gown.

So I'm holding to these moments as hard as I can,
Because the next time I look, I'll be seeing a man.

                         By Cindy Lelinski

    Can anyone offer me a poem for a family that just lost a child?
    
    The family is Orthodox Jewish and their seven year old son 
    collapsed last week after taking his asthma medicaton. He
    has been pronounced brain dead since Tuesday and the doctors
    don't give him more than 24 hours to live. 
    
    My request may be a bit premature but I do calligraphy and
    wanted to find an appropriate poem to give them. Since it
    will take me time to do it, I wanted to find something
    right away.
    
    As a parent, I can feel their pain so much. He was a little 
    boy, sitting at the dining room table doing his homework one
    minute, collapsed on the floor the next.  Life is not fair.
    
    Regards,
    Jodi-

    AAAAAArrrrrrrggggggghhhhh!  I hate 'stories' like that as all of us do.
    
    I am not a poet so can't help on that score.
    
    I like to think that life does not APPEAR to be fair, but really IS
    fair.... its just that we can't see the entire 'picture' in this
    dimension.  Lets hope thats the case anyway.
    
    Jeff

    The only thing that comes to mind regarding "poems",apart from "me
    she'berach" is the song from "love story". Sound wierd? just think
    of all the love our children bring to us,and how they fill our hearts
    with so many special things.
    r/

    Jodi,
    
    I don't know if the book of common prayer would have anything in it,
    but it might be worth a shot.  
    
    For me I know when these things happen it seems like all the magic has
    drained out of the world.  I am so sorry for your friends.
    
    Meg

    	I heard somewhere and have embraced the thought that when someone
    dies young it is because they had a special message that we needed to
    reflect on. Their job was to present that message to us and then leave.

    	Silly? perhaps, rationalization? perhaps, but for me, it is a way
    to put a  positive aspect on an otherwise unbearably painful
    experience.

    				Wendy

    Wendy,
    
    that is how Deborah and I have dealt with the death of her daughter
    Lily at the age of ten months.  However it has taken us a year to get
    to this point.
    
    Meg

>    I don't know if the book of common prayer would have anything in it,
>    but it might be worth a shot.  

Since they're orthodox Jews, I don't think they'd appreciate something from
a Christian prayer book.

    Not all prayers have Jesu in them.  there are those that only mention
    God the father.  
    
    Meg

    FWIW
    
    Deborah has a non-christian, polytheistic metaphysical set of beliefs. 
    She appreciated the prayers and thoughts any and all could give for
    Lily.  

My hearts goes out to your friends.  Words are so clumsy and useless
at times like these.  I'm not sure if the following poem would be 
suitable, but you can decide.

Leslie


    You are my treasure;
    What joys you have brought!
    When you were newly born,
    And I held you close and warm,
    I felt such fierce tenderness,
    It was more than I could comprehend.
    You are my son, my son.
    And I love you.

    You are my treasure;
    What joys you have brought!
    I remember your first smile,
    And a little later, the laughter -
    The whole world seemed merry,
    Laughing with you was happiness complete.
    You are my son, my son.
    And I love you.

    You are my treasure;
    What joys you have brought!
    Your first word, though short
    And perhaps a bit unclear,
    Contained all the meaning
    Of the entire day.
    You are my son, my son.
    And I love you.

    You are my treasure;
    What joys you have brought!
    Your first step - so tentative,
    Now how much I've watched you run,
    Like a racing wind, 
    You've altered my life.
    You are my son, my son.
    And I love you.

    You are my treasure;
    What joys you have brought!
    Those unending questions --
    "How" and "Why" you constantly asked,
    Watching you learn,
    Has taught me so much.
    You are my son, my son.
    And I love you.

    You are my treasure;
    What joys you have brought!
    How can I say good-bye ?
    Why did this happen to you ?
    Unanswerable questions -
    That are breaking my heart.
    You are my son, my son.
    And I love you.

    You are my treasure;
    What joys you have brought!
    Giving you back to G-d
    Is the hardest task I've had,
    But I know His love for you
    Encompasses eternity.
    You are my son, my son,
    And I love you.    

    You are my treasure;
    What joys you have brought!
    Your life's impact,
    Was not in the length of your days,
    But in the wonder of your heart,
    And all that you gave.
    You are my son, my son,
    Forever, I will love you.

*sniff.  :-(

speechless.

double-sniff 8-{

   wish i was home with MY son right now.................

    What about "Footprints"? 
    
    Have you heard of it?
    
    

	Leslie, 

	That was beautiful, thank you!

	Karen

    
    Another thanks for entering that poem...
    
    			Wendy

    Seven year old Josh died last night, peacefully.
    
    Because of Jewish tradition, he will be buried today
    at noon, within 24 hours of death.
    
    It will take some time for me to read through your 
    poem Leslie. I've tried twice now and can't get past
    the first paragraph. 
    
    Thanks everyone for your kind thoughts. 
    
    Jodi-

    <<< Note 373.23 by USOPS::DONOVAN >>>

    >What about "Footprints"? 
    
    What is "Footprints"?
    
    Thanks,
    Jodi-

	Jodi,

	If you do share the poem with your friends, you might want
	to share that Leslie wrote it herself after reading your
	request here.

	Karen

>>    It will take some time for me to read through your 
>>    poem Leslie. I've tried twice now and can't get past
>>    the first paragraph. 
  
      Its okay Jodi, take your time - I know what dealing with the
      pain of loss through death is like, and it takes time.  Even
      if you decided to do my poem for them, it might be some time
      before they could even look at it.  I had a miscarriage in the
      summer of 1992, followed about two month's later by the death
      of my mother, and even now I sometimes still hurt inside and
      cry even though I am convinced that G-d is, and that there is 
      much more to life than what we see and experience now.  

      Hugs to you, and to the parents of Josh.  My 10 year old step-
      son is also named Josh so that brings it very close to home 
      for me.    

      Leslie

      PS.  Footprints is a poem that has been on a lot of cards and
      inspirational type plaques, etc.  It is about someone reviewing,
      with G-d, after their death, their life as a set of footprints
      in the sand.  During the easier times of their life they saw
      two sets of footprints - their's and G-d's.  During the more
      difficult times, only one set was visible.  The person asked
      G-d why He hadn't been with them during the difficult times, and
      G-d replied that it was His footprints only at those times, 
      because that was when He had been carrying the person.  For a
      long time this poem was known as being written by "anonymous" &
      was in the public domain.  A year or two - or some short time
      ago, the real author became known.  The poem had been stolen
      from her along with some other papers during a move.  She has 
      since received royalties from some of the card companies and 
      publishers, including Hallmark.

Since my attention has been brought to this topic, I thought I'd enter
some more of my poems that deal with parenting in some way.  Hope you
all don't mind, and hope that they will speak, in a special way to at
least one person reading them.  I may have entered the one about being
a step-parent sometime before.

Leslie

Each summer and every other Christmas
You tear into the fabric of my life,
Disrupting schedules, requiring a patch.
Two little children, growing so fast
You make me ache with longing
When you throw your arms round me
For an unabashed hug, or nestle
In my lap for a story.

My heart wants to open wide,
Call you my own dear sweet children,
Hide you in love from all the hurts
And fears that life has wrought
On past and present and times to come.
Oh I do struggle, and its hard
To be just a friend when
Mother instinct runs so strong.

Step mother, oh what a lot to have drawn,
Treasuring the days you spend here,
Then letting you go freely back, 
You tear into the fabric of my life 
Each summer and every other Christmas,
but its much easier to mend the fabric then,
Than when you're ripped back out
Each fall and every other New Year.

Leslie Johnson
July 1991

           Retrospective

    This year stands unique among
    the thirty-eight I've known.
    In intensity of loss endured
    and number of witnessed beginnings.
    Which shall mark it longer in memory
    when traced back from years hence ?
    Though I hope never to loose the joy __
    four times over this year, 
    I've shared in celebration where 
    two become one; unite their lives.
    Yet I think, the good byes will longer stay
    to mark heart and mind's recall.
    I said good bye to a deeply wanted child
    Who left before ever coming --
    Little unknown, unnamed son or daughter
    Swept out of me in pain against my will,
    I weep for you still as I weep for the one
    you would have called Grandma.
    A lovely lady, not just mother, but friend.
    For seven watchful days we gathered,
    held tight her hand as she slipped
    deeper and deeper into stillness.
    Further and further away from us,
    Her daughters, son-in-laws, and husband.
    When at long last, seven days' eternity ended
    I ended the stillness 
    with the jagged, tearing cries of grief, 
    hot and rasping heaves of sobbing that
    sometimes still well up and out and down my face.
    I was never good at good-byes.
    Too many were asked of me this summer --
    backwards and forwards, parent and child.
    But all around that pain,
    there dances the delight of wedding joy.
    Light and somber threads of life tightly knit,
    I cannot in looking back see just the one,
    joy and pain together make the whole.

    Leslie Johnson
    October 1992

    Gazing on your tiny sleeping self,
    I am touched by tenderness
    More deeply felt than 
    Words can circumscribe.
    Little one, my own,
    So helpless, so fully needing
    All the care I can give you,
    I give you what I can -
    Keep you dry and clean and nourished,
    Sing lullabies on a stormy night
    To make a circle of peace
    For you to sleep within,
    Rocked by my love, held by love.
    But all that I would give you, I cannot:
    Wisdom known without the danger of experience,
    Joy of love without the pain of loosing,
    Life without the scabs and scars of falls -
    No harm my little lamb, no harm.
    But knowing I cannot,
    I cast you upon tenderness,
    The tender love of Jehovah God
    Whose love for you is circumscribed
    Around and through eternity.

    Leslie Johnson
    September 19, 1993

    Thank you Leslie for your poem. I had no idea you wrote it, 
    and even less idea it was written with Josh in mind. I'm 
    very touched. I'll share it with the family.  Thanks.
    
    Jodi- 

    "Footprints" is a favorite of mine.  I have it on a book mark I use. 
    The one I have does not have the author's name but here it is.  I hope
    no one minds my putting this here.
    
    
    Footprints
    
    One night a man had a dream.  He dreamed he was walking along the beach
    with the Lord.  Across the sky flashed scenes from his life.  For each
    scene he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand:  One belonged to
    him and the other to the Lord.
    
    When the last scene of his life flashed before him, he looked back at
    the footprints in the sand.  He noticed that many times along the path
    of his life there was only one set of footprints.  He also noticed that
    it happened at the very lowest and saddest times in his life.
    
    This really bothered him and he questioned the Lord about it.  Lord,
    you said that once I decided to follow you, you'd walk with me all the
    way.  But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my
    life there is only one set of footprints.  I don't understand why when
    I needed you most you would leave me.
    
    The Lord replied, my precious, precious child, I love you and I would
    never leave you during your times of trial and suffering.  When you see
    only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you.
    
    

    "Do not stand at my grave
         and weep.
    "I am not there. I do not
         sleep.
    "I am a thousand winds
         that blow;
    "I am the diamond glints
         on snow.
    "I am sunlight on ripened 
         grain;
    "I am the gentle autumn's
         rain.
    "When you awaken in the 
         morning's hush,
    "I am the swift uplifting
         rush
    "Of quiet birds in circled
         flight.
    "I am the soft star that
         shines at night.
    "Do not stand at my grave
         and cry,
    "I am not there.
    "I did not die"
    

Perhaps you could offer your calligraphy talents to do some phrase, saying, 
poem, or religious passage that is especially meaningful to THEM.  I have a 
friend whose child was stillborn, and one of her ways of coping was to 
compose a poem herself.

I think one of the reasons that Leslie's poems are so moving is that she is 
writing about her own life experiences, in her own words.

Unless you are very familiar with their outlook and their religious beliefs, 
then it seems to me that there's a possibility of saying or doing something 
that doesn't have the desired effect.  I know of several oft repeated poems 
and sayings that would be of no consolation to me should I be in your 
friend's sad situation, or are inconsistent with my religious beliefs.

Clay 

    re:.36: Thank-you.
    
    I have found all these poems very moving - I find it difficult
    to remain composed, and a little frightened to read this string
    for fear of loosing that composure.
    
    Jodi: I feel for your friends' loss.
    
    Monica

         Hello Jodi, 

         The following are the traditional words of comfort said at a 
         'shiva' (Jewish house of mourning). Please can you convey them 
         to the family of Josh. A friend sent them to me after asking
         after Josh, and also being shocked and saddened on hearing 
         news. 

         
         "Hamakom yenachem etchem betoch sha'ar aveilei tzion virushala'm"
         
         "May G_d comfort you among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem"
         
         
    
         Malcolm and Malcolm
    

Please do not let this question diminish the loss or cause a diversion of
the note, but could someone explain to an uneducated Christian why people
are using the "spelling" "G_d" for something I would spell as God?

							Thanks,
								Mark

    Judaism has a name for the deity written as YHWH.  It is never
    pronounced, as it is a) too holy and b) unknown.  Only the High
    Priest of the Temple knew how to say it, and I believe only said
    it once a year.
    
    So instead they use either "Adonai" or "Elohim".  One of them
    means "lord", but I forget what the other means.
    
    Out of force of habit they don't write the "o" in English, though
    in this case the word is not a personal name but a title (more like 
    "President" than "Bill").  Habit, and the desire to show that they
    respect the prohibition, I suppose.
    
    See Asimov's _Guide_to_the_Bible_ and other such books for a
    longer discussion.
    
    		-John Bishop

Reading the sad story related in .11 and .26, and also reading Leslie's poems 
reminds me that I -- and I think most of us in here -- do indeed have a lot 
to be thankful for.

Clay

    
    Leslie,
    
    	From the bottom of my heart I'd like to thank you for the beautiful
    words you wrote in .20.  You were able to say things in a way that I
    wish I could say them.  It's almost as if you were living in my mind.
    	
    	You see, in February my 9 year old son was killed in a freak
    sno-tube accident in Westboro and since then, my world has been
    destroyed.  He was our only child and now all I have are memories
    of Greg, there's no today or tomorrow.  No longer will we spend time
    together. I can't laugh with him, wrestle with him, or even give him a
    hug - I think that's what hurts the most.
    	
    	I often ask myself "why" a child with a lifetime ahead of him had
    to die and I can't find any reasons but I'm consoled by the fact that
    while he was alive, he had 2 loving parents who dedicated their lives
    to raising him as a happy, well-adjusted child.  We have no regrets
    about the 9 short years he was with us.
    	
    	Everything in your poem I can identify with - holding him in the
    hospital, his smiles, those special moments when his hand would hold my
    hand, his "Why?" questions, followed by another and on and on.....
    
    In my mind I can still hear his voice, especially "that's alright, Dad"
    for when I'd mess up something, like tumbling down the tower of blocks
    when I'd try to make it just 1 block higher or if I couldn't fix one of
    his toys.  At times I try to "see" him sitting next to me in the car,
    hoping that he'll reappear.
    
    You were absolutely correct when you wrote the part about the hardest
    part being giving back your child.  I know. I'm living it every day.
    
    I'm sorry to hear about Josh and I'm very, very sorry for what they
    will go through - it's a pain that will never go away or be reversed.
    The loss of your child results in an emptyness in your life that I
    don't think can be filled.
    
    My wife is expecting what would have been our second child.  We're very
    happy about that but this time I feel quite differently - I'm not
    emotionally excited about it.  I expect that to change once the baby
    is born and I can once again hold our child but I know that it won't
    be the same kind of joy that we had almost 10 years ago.
    
    Once again, thank you for the poem. I feel you wrote it just for me and
    I'm greatful.
    
    Kevin
    
    ps- thanks to Jane Wright for pointing this to me.  I've not
    participated in this notesfile before.
    
    K
    
    

    Kevin,  
    
    I'm so sorry for your loss.  
    
    Here is a poem I found and have done up and framed for Josh's
    family. It's short and to the point.
    
    The Butterfly
    
    A butterfly lights beside us like a sunbeam.
    
    And for a brief moment its glory and beauty belong to our world.
    
    But then it flys on again.
    
    And though we wish it could have stayed,
    
    We feel so lucky to have seen it.
    
    						   - author unkonwn
    
    
    Leslie, thank you for helping us out and for touching
    so many hearts.
    
    Peace,
    Jodi-
    
    

Kevin,

My heart goes out to you.  Please feel free to print the poem out & take
it with you if you'd like.  I'm sure too that your emotional attachment
to your second child will be strong and vibrant too.   And though I can't
put it into words, I think I can understand how and why you might feel
a little detached right now after having lost your son like that.

Leslie

Kevin, I, too, am sorry for you and your family that Greg died.  It is one of
my greatest fears, that I would lose one of my children.  I hope that you will
find this notesfile to be a good experience for you, both in regards to your
coming child and in any grieving you need to do for Greg (or for yourself). 
Other parents here have lost children, also.  This is discussed in various
notes at times, and is a topic of its own in note 304.*. 

If there is ever an aspect of loss which you want to bring up, or a fear,
or a joy in your life, please feel free to share it with us.  You are welcome
here.

      Carol duBois, both as a noter, and as a moderator

	Someone sent this in a mail message, and I wanted to share it
        with you ....
    
    
    
    
    
                         After a While 
                           by Veronica A. Shoffstall

                         After a while you learn 
                         the subtle difference between 
                         holding a hand 
                         and chaining a soul
                         and you learn that love doesn't
                         mean leaning
                         and company doesn't always
                         mean security.
 
                         And you begin to learn
                         that kisses aren't contracts and
                         presents aren't promises
                         and you begin to accept your
                         defeats
                         with the grace of a woman
                         not the grief of a child
                         and you learn
                         to build all your roads on today
                         because tomorrow's ground is
                         too uncertain for plans
                         and futures have a way of falling
                         down in mid-flight.

                         After a while you learn
                         that even sunshine burns
                         if you get too much
                         so you plant your own garden
                         and decorate your own soul
                         instead of waiting
                         for someone to bring you flowers.

                         And you learn
                         That you really can endure
                         that you really are strong
                         and you really do have worth
                         and you learn
                         and you learn
                         with every goodbye you learn.

    

        My mother sent me this recently and it really touched me,
	especially since my husband and I are now dealing with the 
	financial and social hardships of being parents.  

	I thought I'd share it with you all.




	The following was in a Dear Abby column on February 20, 1994 in 
	response to a previous letter from a childless couple who
	presented a view of the "hardships" of being childless (it was
	tongue in cheek).

	Quoted from a speech by Marianne Neifert, M.D.  (Reader's Digest,
	January 1994 "Points to Ponder"

    	   "If I hadn't had children, I probably would have had more
	money and material things.  I probably would have gone more 
	places, gotten more sleep and pampered myself more.  My life
	would have been much more boring and predictable.

	    As a result of being a parent, I have laughed harder and
	cried more often.  I have worried more and hurried more.  I've
	had less sleep but somehow I've had more fun.  I've learned
	more and grown more.  My heart has ached harder, and I've loved
	to a capacity beyond my imagination.  I've given more of myself,
	but I've derived more meaning from life".

    Are you aware of any poems directed toward teenagers.  I'm looking
    actually for books for even ones that you may know of for my 14 year 
    old neice.
    
    Thanks
    
    

    Having been spending a lot of time lately with teens, it seem they take
    more to listening to the words in music, more than poetry.
    
    Last night I had three teens, and a parent in my car.  We had gone and
    hour and a half in each direction.  I had a "soft rock" station on the
    car radio, and suddenly I found the teens sort of analyzing the meaning
    of the words on each song.  
    
    Personally, and from observation, the words to Wind Beneath my Wings is
    especially meaningful to teens, there's a couple more, and I promise to
    listen more closely.  
    
    If you want to zero in on poetry, try some of the old classics as from
    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, some of the writings of Louisa May Alcott
    (both local to MA) teens love these I have observed.
    
    Lyn

    A few years ago, I put a note into PARENTING_V2.  It was the words to a
    song that I had heard called "Little Eyes".  I can't remember some of
    it and I'm wondering if anyone may have saved it from a few years ago
    or may have heard it before?
    
    Here's the words that I remember.
    
    Little Eyes, big questions .. every day.
    Make us laugh and cry with things that they say.
    Any time or place, they're so unafraid.
    They ask "why?", "What for?" and "How is it made?"
    
    (there's two lines in here that I can't remember)
    David asks his mom, "Are monsters real?"
    And when our puppy died, how did it feel?
    
    (the rest here are just miscellaneous lines that I remember)
    
    Where did I come from?  When will I grow?
    Will you still love me? Little eyes want to know.
    Little eyes.
    
    Can you buy a sister for me at the store?
    And can I drive the car, after I'm four?
    
    Why's mommy crying?  Where'd Grampa go?
    Who's gonna love me?, little eyes want to know
    Little eyes.
    
    
    Can anyone remember the rest or do they have it somewhere in a file?
    
    Thanks.
    
    Holly
    

    
    If I Had My Child to Raise Over Again
    
    If I had my child to raise all over again,
    I'd finger paint more, and point the finger less.
    I'd do less correcting, and more connecting.
    I'd take my eyes off my watch, and watch with my eyes.
    I would care to know less, and know to care more.
    I'd take more hikes and fly for kites.
    I'd stop playing serious, and seriously play.
    I'd run through more fields, and gaze at more stars.
    I'd do more hugging, and less tugging.
    I would be firm less often, and affirm much more.
    I'd build self-esteem first, and the house later.
    I'd teach less about the love of power,
    and more about the power of love.
    
    					-Diane Loomans
                                                      

    
       I like that.... 
    
       Rosie

    I'm looking for the "Magic Hanky" poem that goes along with the
    Hanky that you sew into a baby bonnet.  It goes something like "I'm
    just a litt hanky as square as can be, but with a stick or two they've
    made a bonnet out of me".
    
    Does anyone have this poem in it's entirety, I've lost my copy.  I need
    it by Thursday at the latest.
    
    Thanks,
    Julie
    

I'm just a little Handerchief,
Quite sqare as you can see,
But with a stitch or two they made
A bonnet out of me.

I'll be worn home from the hospital 
Or on the Christening Day:
Then neatly pressed and folded
I'll be carefully packed away.

On her wedding day a bride must
have,
Traditionally, something old...
Good luck, good health and
happiness
It brings her, so its told.

Then what could be more pleasant
Than to unpack little me,
To snip a stitch or two and find
Her handerchief I'll be.

And if I'm first worn by a boy
He'll surely wed;
Then he can give his lovely bride
the Hanky once worn on his head.

    Thanks!  I knew I could count on the Noting community.
    
    Thanks again,
    Julie