Leaves of Grass

Someone I know lost her child. He was just over a year old. Their first, only one. The doctors found a brain tumor and a few hours later, he was already gone. He was truly just in the beginning of his life. Learning to walk, his firsts in everything.

There are no words. I can’t even begin to understand. But maybe that’s nature’s way of making sure people still want to have children after such experiences? If I could live their pain, I’m not sure I could ever have the courage to have children of my own. Or does the joy of parenthood surpass the grief of loss, at least after some time goes by?

This poem by Walt Whitman greatly consoles me, even on a day like this when it all does seem so unfair.

“I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,/
If you want me look for me under your boot-soles./
--- Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,/
I stop somewhere waiting for you.”