Below is the poem entitled The Gift which was written by poet
Quigley. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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It's gone, the thundering voice of destruction, leaving behind the shattered lives and loves of yesterday. The darkness is broken only by the sounds of silence. We have survived the tornado.
There is a stir beneath me as I feel my boys begin to move. “Mom, are we dead” a tremulous voice ventures? “No” I say, “God did not look the other way”.
I try to move and a flash of pain runs through my body. I am trapped. I cannot move my legs. I must stay calm. No one knows we're here. What's that? A voice', faint but growing stronger. Hello! Can anybody hear me?
“We're down here” I cry. “Please help us, I can't move”. A sense of relief crowds my senses before a wave of nausea rolls over me. I remember hugging my boys.
Light streams through the window of an unfamiliar room. “Where am I. Where are my boys” I ask. Lay still I am told. Your boys are fine, and you will be too, but now you must rest.
I drift between a world of sunshine and shadow, waking fitfully. I survey my surroundings. I glance at the shape beneath my sheet that is my body and absently note that I cannot see my feet. Clutching the sheet I slowly draw it up. An anguished scream escapes my throat. My legs! They are gone! There is nothing below my knees. I panic. I cannot live like this. What am I going to do? The tears fall uncontrollably.
A doctor enters the room and offers me a sedative. I scream at him about the injustice. I am a mother. I am angry. He speaks to me in quiet tones. We did everything they could he says. There was no other choice.
Days pass and I worry about what my boys will think when they see me for the first time. I know it is now up to me to deal with it, but I am so afraid. And I am still angry at God for what he took away from me just when I needed him most.
I lay there, contemplating my misfortune, feeling sorry for myself when two little boys burst through the door, laughing and looking for their mom. My heart races as they climb up on my bed.
“Mom” the older boy says. “Can I ride in your wheelchair”?
At that moment, it all becomes clear. They do not care how I look. They love me just the same. Through my tears I realize that in fact I have been blessed. I can no longer hate Him for what I lost, but instead, I must give thanks for what He let me keep.