This is a poem that my grandmother wrote out for my mother, for her first miscarriage, my sister Ashley, and my mom passed it on to me. What a sad, but powerful tradition.
Here is the text of the poem (which I have changed to be for a boy):
There is a very wee boy, who won't grow up at all.
Did your angel bear him gently, God, because he was so small?
I wondered that you bothered, its such a long, long way
From heaven to a Mother's heart, and not to let him stay.
A lifetime is so little, when it's only for a day.
Excuse the tears and pleading and bitterness I've shown,
I really did not understand that he was just a loan.
I forgot in all the sweetness and joy from day to day,
The little clothes preparing while he was on his way.
Somehow I never really thought he'd have so short a stay.
What sort of baby is he, God? I'm sure he is very good,
But if he cries, perhaps it's just the little blueish hood.
We dressed him pretty warmly to go so far away.
And I knew where he was going, he'd be longer than a day.
So, God, if you're not busy from the cares we give down here,
Will you please take just a minute to whisper in his ear
That I love him very dearly, that I'm glad he came my way,
That I close my eyes and see him.... Ah, God, just say
That I'm glad I was his mother, though it was just for a day.