Flora Ruth Allen

What kind of place would heaven be with all its streets of gold, if all the souls, that dwell up there like yours and mine, were old? How strange would heaven’s music sound when harps begin to ring, if children were not gathered ‘round to help the angels sing. The children that God sends to us are only just a loan, He knows we need their sunshine to make the house a home. We need the inspiration of a baby’s blessed smile. He doesn’t say they’ve come to stay, just lends them for a while. Sometimes it takes them years to do the work for which they come. Sometimes in just a month or two our Father calls them home. I like to think some souls up there bear not one sinful scar. I love to think of heaven as a place where children are.

Little Children

November 24, 2009

so sorry to here of the loss of such a beautiful little girl!


A Child Loaned

"I'll lend you for a little time
A child of Mine," He said,
"For you to love the while she lives,
And mourn for when she's dead.
It may be six or seven years
Or twenty-two or three,
But will you, till I call her back,
Take care of her for Me?
She'll bring her charms to gladden you,
And should her stay be brief,
You'll have her lovely memories
As solace for your grief."

"I cannot promise she will stay,
Since all from earth return.
But there are lessons taught down there
I want this child to learn.
I've looked this wide world over,
In my search for teachers true.
And from the throngs that crowd life's lanes,
I have selected you.
Now will you give her all your love,
Not think the labor vain,
Nor hate Me when I come to call
And take her back again?"

I fancied that I heard them say,
"Dear Lord, Thy will be done,
For all the joy Thy child shall bring,
The risk of grief we'll run.
We'll shelter her with tenderness,
We'll love her while we may,
And for the happiness we've known,
Forever grateful stay.
But should the angels call for her,
Much sooner than we planned,
We'll brave the bitter grief that comes,
And try to understand."

Sarah North

November 15, 2008

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Mum To Joseph And Christopher

March 26, 2008

god bless u n ur family my son connor was born sleeping at 33wks after having 5 girls he was wanted so much but it wasn,t he,s time love 2 u all from the mcginnis family.xx

Delena Blundell (grieving mummy)

July 2, 2007

My Poem for Flora

Grief Grows

My grief will grow.
Grow into what?
Into an obsession,
And I will think about you
Every second of every moment
In every day;
Into depression –
A big black hole that opens before me
As I walk along.
My grief will grow
Into an anger so red and raw
That I will not be able to see anything else.
I will be blind with rage.
Its fire will kindle in my soul
Until I am burnt up,
Consumed by the flames.
My grief will renew
Like the phoenix
Rising purified from its funeral pyre.
My grief will grow
Into compassion –
I will look into the eyes of another
And see my own pain reflected there;
Or into passion:
I will commit myself wholeheartedly
To the things that I believe.
Grief will grow into seeds of love
That I will scatter,
And into gifts that I will give to others
From the very depths of my soul.
My grief will grow –
Not into more grief.
Perhaps one day my grief will grow
Into hope:
Hope that I can use
All I have learnt
To make a difference to someone else.
Hope that I will no longer
Wear my pain
Like a badge on my sleeve,
Or let it consume me so totally
That it becomes the sum of who I am.
Hope that whether or not
I believe we will meet again
Still I can behave as if we will,
So that you can be proud of me.
Hope that in our own time
I will travel far enough
To be worthy to have known you.
Hope that I will know in my heart
That to let go the pain
Is to let in the love,
And give it room to grow.
Hope that one day my soul
Will be so full of love
That there will not be room for anything else.
Then joy, and not grief only,
Will be mine.

Kay Allen.

Our daughter Flora was born with a rare metabolic disorder, Cytochrome Oxidase Deficiency. She remained brave and beautiful whatever indignities she had to suffer. In 1997 she died, aged 22 months.

I want this poem to have its own message for you, but what it says for me is that there is definitely a time to be unbearably sad or uncontrollably angry. However, one of the many things that I learnt from Flora is that no matter what may happen, you too can be brave and beautiful in the assimilation of your experience.

Kay Allen (Mother)

June 27, 2007