You lived, You died

October twenty-sixth, nineteen seventy three
that was the day
God gave you to me.

Three months old, you smiled at me
I wrote it in your baby book
so that one day you could see.

Five months old, you said my name
again I wrote in your special book,
Thanking God for the day you came.

The day you turned one year old
I treasured the gift of you
mine, forever to hold.

Four years old, you started school
you asked, "Mommy,
why are kids so cruel?"

Ten years old, you're in fifth grade
You walked out the front door
but wanted to stay.

Twelve years old, started Junior High
longing for friendship
wishing to die.

Thirteen years old, alone in your room
slowly cutting yourself,
I can feel the doom.

Fifteen years old, you've already tried
drugs, sex and alcohol
you've attempted suicide.

Knowing nothing else, seeing it as the way
I left you in the hospital
you begged for me to stay.

When I came to pick you up, I could barely swallow
your eyes, they looked so different
empty, cold, hollow.

July eighth, nineteen ninety four
the day you said,
"I can't take anymore."

T H E E N D

of you

of me

of all

that could ever be.