Unto The Father, I Commend my Spirit

If I knew the cemetery where this monument stood, I'd make a pilgramage to see it. It speaks to the depths of my heart. The baby's limp lifelessness captures the essence of all I had with my girls. Abigail's toes were so very similar, and the same manner of her arms as I held her fervently to my bosom...

It penetrates me that the mother's hidden eyes are not part of the photograph. They look upward to heaven. You can feel from her presence that she is speachless, and yet her desperate plea for "Why?" is indescribable. In her aching arms she dedicates her child unto Giver. She is overwhelmed in her need for for answers. She is overcome with a love beyond telling. To have such a monument to a mother's loss would be a treasured thing in our cemetery. I'm reminded that I'd love to have a Christmas Box angel erected at in the baby section where Abigail & Anne are. I hate that the project overwhelms me. I persevere toward health.