The Summer of Tabitha Grace

Late one April evening,
with spring hovering in the night sky,
you entered into this world,
evening out our family,
filling a hole we never knew we had
until you came and fit there perfectly.

Summer passed, and you were a delight.
Oh, we endured some expected baby trials,
but you were a butterfly, a lightning bug, a shooting star.
You smiled and cooed, rolled over and laughed,
adored your big sister, watching her every move,
always so content just viewing the action.
You were so easy to love.

Fall sneaked up on us.
You met all your cousins.
You, then the youngest, completed the group.
We had big dreams of hiding in leaf piles,
of crawling, of cute costumes.

But one October morning,
winter cut our autumn short.
You were too perfect for this earth—
our borrowed angel since your birth.

And now winter chills our hearts
and sadness chokes our souls
and coldness creeps in.

But cutting through the pain,
we remember our butterfly, our firefly, our shooting star, our angel.
Remembering your bright eyes warms our hearts.
Remembering your quick smiles lightens our souls.
Remembering your happiness brings warmth again.

We do not know why six months is all you had here,
but we do know we will have so much more with you there.

And while we wait here in this world and endure this winter,
we'll never forget
the summer of Tabitha Grace.

October 31, 2011: Michelle H. Collett