Thomas D. Pickens 1/5/02-6/13/17
They say time heals all wounds, but who are they anyway?
Have they ever had to lay their son for his final rest?
Medical examiners searched for reasons as to why
But came up with a shaky conclusion, saying “We did our best”
A year passed, and not a day goes by
That mom doesn’t mention her beloved son’s name.
Pride for what was and what could no longer be
Their family dinner table never will be the same.
Time passing, elapsing as she holds onto any nostalgic scrap.
Will her heart’s wound heal as the days turn into weeks?
She smiles fondly of the good times and all in between.
But to find a way to see him, is all her heart really seeks.
“Dear son, you were way too young to go.
But know this, I will always love you so.
In my mind’s eye, you will forever have your space.
Until we meet again in that glorious, heavenly place.”
For Heather…an original poem by Amy Blount 2018
As promised, here is another of my nativity scenes. This one is a snow globe that plays silent night. As I wrote this poem for a friend, I realized that Mary could understand a mother’s grief. And how we see her elated joy in all these scenes they depict, but little does she know what would be to come 33 years later. Each new day we are given is a day to be closer to God, for like Mary, we know not what’s in store.