By Ariele Taylor, TIWP Woman’s Program

My sweet friend,
truly you walk with God.
Your spirit—humble and unafraid.
Open.

Your eyes—a beacon,
radiating light,
filled with tears,
depending on the conversation.
Your body—following your heart,
ready to embrace
or celebrate the divine every day.

I imagine you
next to that hospital bed
holding your son,
your tall boy-man,
your fragile child,
your baby crying out for help.

You nursed and carried this boy.
I know you celebrated his first smile
and sang him to sleep with the voice of an angel.

How do they grow so far apart from us?
How do they become so flawed?

The oak tree pushes her roots deep, deep,
seeking water,
stretching her canopy wide,
each new branch determining her eventual shape,
nourished
by every imaginable weather.
To see her is to know her story.

You will walk with grace
and sing again
and you will shine on him
with unending light.
You will shine on him
and he will curl around you,
a baby again,
absolved,
gathering strength.