Many thanks to our friends and family who have walked alongside us in our journey as we cherished each moment with our little David. Without him, the womb is deathly silent to me. Our hearts ache. We miss him terribly. We long to have just a peek into Heaven, to know what he is doing. We begin a new journey now--life without David. It seems strange going on into new days without him. He had become a part of all that we did. We were intentional in the way we lived. No regrets. For that I am thankful. But nothing can take away the desire we still have for him to be with us--to have brought him home. 

The following poem was read at David's graveside service. It was written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. The "she" and "her" references were changed to read as "he", "him" and "his". I wanted to share it...Longfellow must have lost a child as well.


There is no flock, however watched and tended,
   But one dead lamb is there!
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,
   But has one vacant chair!
The air is full of farewells to the dying,
   And mournings for the dead;
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,
   Will not be comforted!
Let us be patient!  These severe afflictions
   Not from the ground arise,
But oftentimes celestial benedictions
   Assume this dark disguise.
We see but dimly through the mists and vapors;
   Amid these earthly damps
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers
   May be heaven's distant lamps.
There is no Death!  What seems so is transition;
   This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life elysian,
   Whose portal we call Death.
(He) is not dead,--the child of our affection,--
   But gone unto that school
Where (he) no longer needs our poor protection,
   And Christ himself doth rule.
In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion,
   By guardian angels led,
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution,
   (He) lives, whom we call dead.
Day after day we think what (he) is doing
   In those bright realms of air;
Year after year, (his) tender steps pursuing,
   Behold (his) grown more fair.
Thus do we walk with (him), and keep unbroken
   The bond which nature gives,
Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken,
   May reach (him) where (he) lives.
Not as a child shall we again behold (him);
   For when with raptures wild
In our embraces we again enfold (him),
   (He) will not be a child;
But a fair (lad), in (his) Father's mansion,
   Clothed with celestial grace;
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion
   Shall we behold (his) face.
And though at times impetuous with emotion
   And anguish long suppressed,
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean,
   That cannot be at rest,--
We will be patient, and assuage the feeling
   We may not wholly stay;
By silence sanctifying, not concealing,
   The grief that must have way.