Amanda Christie

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════║══║Put this on your
════║══║page if you know
════║══║someone who died
════║══║of Cot Death

I am the mommy to Baby Jayden. He truely was my pride and joy. I will always remember, love, and miss him very much.

I am a mother, though not like you.
You cradle your sweet baby in your arms,
Mine are empty, but I hold him in my heart.
You brush her soft curly hair,
and tie pretty pink bows just right.
A lock of his hair is tucked neatly in a book
You pick daisies and tie them in a chain
to wear around her neck
I cut lilacs and arrange them in a vase to set at his grave.
You look forward to dreams and plans.
I hold on to memories.
I am a mother,
though not like you.

Will I know my baby when we meet again?
Will he have grown up, not be the infant that died in my arms?
Will I recognize him, be able to find him among so many others?
Or will he be a stranger to me, not knowing who I am,
or me knowing him?

Do babies grow up in heaven?
He never got his first tooth, or said his first words.
No first shoes, no Santa, no first birthday cake.
Will my son still be a baby when we meet again?

Do babies grow up in heaven?
Who sings him precious lullabies?
Who holds him close and kisses him everyday?
Who tells him constantly that they love him?

Do babies grow up in heaven?
When we next meet, will he know me?
Will he want to know me?
Will he be my son who died at three months, or a man, fully grown?
Will I have the joy of being a mother to my son for all eternity?

Do babies grow up in heaven?
Will I be able to hold him, love him, sing lullabies to him?
Will I be able to hold his tiny hand, or will it be a man's hand?
Will I ever have the joy that only holding my son can bring?
I need to know! In heaven, is my baby still a baby?


I am wearing a pair of shoes.

They are ugly shoes. Uncomfortable shoes.

I hate my shoes.

Each day I wear them,
and each day I wish
I had another pair.

Some days my shoes
hurt so bad that
I do not think
I can take
another step.

Yet,
I continue to wear them.

I get funny looks
wearing these shoes.

They are looks of sympathy.
I can tell in others eyes that they are glad
they are my shoes
and not theirs.

They never talk
about my shoes.

To learn how awful
my shoes are might
make them uncomfortable.

To truly understand these shoes
you must walk in them.

But,
once you put them on,
you can never take them off.

I now realize that
I am not the only one
who wears these shoes.
There are many pairs
in this world.

Some PEOPLE
are like me
and ache daily
as they try
and walk in them.

Some have learned
how to walk in them
so they don't hurt
quite as much.

Some have worn the shoes
so long that days
will go by before
they think about
how much they hurt.

No PERSON deserves
to wear these shoes.

Yet,
because of these shoes
I am a stronger PERSON.
These shoes have given
me the strength
to face anything.

They have made me
who I am.

I will forever walk
in the shoes of
a PARENT who has lost a child