Its Raining On Your Grave, My Child

Its hailing on your grave my child, a loud and deafening sound. I want to be there, Its pointless I know for after all its just a grave". Memories of a tiny girl - Terrified of storms, the noise that it brings. We would cuddle up; I'd hold you tight, sing calming songs, whisper in your ear: ”hush now my child your momma's here, this too shall pass let go of your fear". As you matured, different storms came; but now I could not help. In a darkened room the curtains drawn You would lie in a fetal position staring at what-I-could-not-see trapped in your soul-storm, not crying or moving how helpless I felt, for how do you fight what you cannot see? Your sunny days were contagious – you were bubbly and happy, Creative, artistic, painting rainbows and flowers, all that was bright then the bad days would strike and like a bruised reed you became still; quite still, and no-one was welcome - not even me. How often I would plead with you "Please talk to me when the storms return your mother is here, let go of your fear". Then came the day the you succumbed (how big a storm this must have been!) When I found you on that fateful day - the pain! It crushed my heart I thought it a nightmare, surely I would wake up this can't be my daughter, No! Lord No! Will she now forever be caught in a storm? Then gently He spoke I have her here safe, your daughter was tired and I brought her Home. So whenever I think of your frequent storms I console myself you were loved since you were born And in God’s Grace and Mercy may He treat you gently, may the sun shine brightly.