Parents yearn for what is lost,
A baby dies – but a few short hours old;
And in a darkened kitchen,
Two women hold each other and cry.
In the midst of raw reality,
When tears scald
And hearts ache,
Your grace holds me together –
Mere threads keeping my broken pieces
From flying apart.
These threads are all I have,
Yet they are spun of iron –
Mighty cords that will not break,
Though they’ve been tested many times.
They are my lifeline –
Precarious, yet never failing,
For You know that I am spent;
I cannot carry the load myself,
So I must let heaven’s threads
Bear the weight of bereavement,
And those tears
Shed in the kitchen that night.
~ Ilana Reimer