Click through the tabs below to read our collection of poems written by bereaved parents.

This is an excellent way to share your feelings with family members and
friends that are having a hard time understanding the “new you”.

A Place

by Ileana Villahermosa

I’ve just met a group of friends
We all seem to feel the same
We are all part of a place
Where we share each others pain

In this place we’re all alone
No one wants ever to go
It is filled by those who lost
At least a daughter or son
A child that will forever
No longer be here with us

This place is not really far
It is here in our hearts
No one believes it exists
Others think is just a myth!!

Is a place where our old friends
Seem to no longer ask
About the kids we once had
Like if they don’t say a word
It will no longer hurt
They are scared, they don’t want
Ever to walk our path

We know no one understands
Unless they’ve been there once
Once you’ve enter to this place
There’s no way you’ll be the same

It is in this place that we keep
All the dreams that we once had
All of our hopes and our past
The memories of our child

It is in this place
Where we’ve learn
That the pain will not be less
Whether we are asleep or awake
That we were betrayed by fate

It is in there where we pray
And ask for that great reward
Dear God, please find the way
We’ll be patient and we’ll wait
For that clear sunny day
When we no longer feel pain

We all want the same reward
See our child and have them back
Let them come and take our hand
Let them take us to your land
Let us never be apart

~written by Ileana Villahermosa
In Memory of her son, Felipe A. Pagan
November 20, 1973 – April 13, 1999
Orlando, Florida

About Being Strong

by Sascha

Many people are convinced
that being strong and brave
means trying to think
and talk about “something else.”

But we know
that being strong and brave
means thinking and talking
about our child
until our grief begins to be bearable.

That is strength.
That is courage.
And only thus can
“being strong and brave”
help us to heal.


by sascha

It is not easy to remember dead children.

But, easy or not,
we know that we will not –
and do not want to –
forget them.

Therefore we reach out together again,
to love them and to celebrate their memory.

Again, we light their special candles
and we say their beloved names.

We remember our children, who died.
They remain forever part of us, and we are richer for having shared their lives,
however briefly.

If we could have a lifetime wish

A dream that would
come true,
We’d pray to God with
all our hearts
For yesterday and You.
A thousand words
can’t bring you back
We know because
we’ve tried…
Neither will a
thousand tears
We know because
we’ve cried…
You left behind our broken hearts
And happy
memories too…
But we never wanted memories
We only wanted You.

Lights of Love

Written by TCF Member Jacqueline Brown
For National Children’s Memorial Day

Can you see our candles
Burning in the night?
Lights of love we send you
Rays of purest white

Children we remember
Though missing from our sight
In honor and remembrance
We light candles in the night

All across the big blue marble
Spinning out in space
Can you see the candles burning
From this human place?

Oh, angels gone before us
Who taught us perfect love
This night the world lights candles
That you may see them from above

Tonight the globe is lit by love
Of those who know great sorrow,
But as we remember our yesterdays
Let’s light one candle for tomorrow

We will not forget,
And every year in deep December
On Earth we will light candles
As…………….we remember

Jacqueline Brown
Peace Valley TCF, New Britain PA

Look at yourself in the mirror

Say to yourself,
“It is hard to lose a child.”

Say to yourself,
“It is reasonable to hurt.”

Say to yourself,
“Healing takes time”

Be Good to Yourself

by Sascha

Poems by Sascha
For the Both of Us
As long as I can,
I will look at this world for both of us,
As long as I can.
I will laugh with the birds,
I will sing with the flowers,
I will pray to the stars,
For the both of us.
As long as I can
I will remember how many things
On this earth were your joy,
And I will live as well
As you would want me to live
As long as I can.
Sascha – from Wintersun

Grief walks with you today,
your constant companion.
But in the morning, tomorrow,
the sunrise of hope waits for you.
by Sascha

Memories will bring you
love from the past
courage in the present
hope for the future
By Sascha

Hope is not an easy word
for grievers
but we, more than most others,
need to understand
what hope can mean for us.
Hope means finding the strength
to live with grief.
Hope means nurturing
with grace
the joy of remembrance.
Hope means embracing
with tenderness and pride
our own life and
the gifts left to us
by those we have lost.
By Sascha from WINTERSUN

The New Year
The New Year comes
When all the world is ready
For changes, resolutions –
Great beginnings.
For us, to whom
That stroke of midnight means
A missing child remembered,
For us, the new year comes
More like another darkness.
But let us not forget
That this may be the year
When love and hopeand courage
Find each other somewhere
In the darkness
To lift their voices and speak
by sascha

Let warm memories
be as close to you
as the warmth
of summer.
By Sascha

Poems on Time

Time does not
really heal
A broken
heart. . . .

It only teaches
a person
how to
live with it.

Time lets you heal,
Love lets you remember,
Give thanks
Love and Time


Grief is neither
a sign of weakness
nor a lack of faith.
It is the price we pay
for love.
by Darcie Sims

Surely there is no journey
as lonely, nor one embarked
upon with more pain, than
the walk a grieving parent
takes through the wilderness
of grief.
– Are You Weeping with Me, God?

Time does not really heal
a broken heart;
it only teaches a person
how to live with it.
Cry all you want,
Laugh when you can

Those we love remain with us,
for love itself lives on,
And cherished memories never fade
because a love one’s gone.
Those we love can never be
more than a thought apart,
For as long as there is memory,
they’ll live on in the heart.

The Last Trick or Treater
It’s late Halloween night,
The candle in the pumpkin is nearly out.
The candy is almost gone,
The doorbell rings one last time.
It’s a little boy in costume
With a jack-o-lantern for his treats,
Only he has no candy
And he has no one waiting for him in the dark.
As he leaves, he stops,
turns around and waves to me.
Could it be?

Nine Years or Nine Hundred
by Barbara Koontz Clarihew

Sometimes it seems that nobody understands the pain of losing your child.

“Well,” they say, “It’s been nine years shouldn’t you be over it by now? My parents died (or my cousin – or my dog) and I did my grieving and got over it,” they say.

Nine years –
It seems like only yesterday
And I remember the horror:
* The police knocking at the door in the middle of the night
* Making funeral arrangements (funeral arrangements?) for my son * Asking his best friends – boys who were just yesterday playing ball and laughing with him – to be his pallbearers
* That awful empty feeling in the pit of my stomach when the limousine from the funeral home drove up to our house
* Seeing his casket poised above the freshly-dug grave
* Being pulled away from the graveside when the eternity of services was done
* Waking up every morning for weeks and for a blessed split second thinking everything was right with the world, then the reality crashing in that he is dead
* Fumbling my way, somehow, through the days and nights

Yes, my friends, it’s been nine years
and still it hurts to say his name
to think what he might have been doing now with his life
to realize what a waste of a young life it was.
So, please, don’t expect me to be “over it” or “okay.”
Not in nine years
Or in ninety
Or in nine hundred.

The elephant in the room

by Terry Kettering

There’s an elephant in the room.
It is large and squatting, so it is hard to get around it.
Yet we squeeze by with, “How are you?” And, “I’m fine…”
And a thousand other forms of trivial chatter.
We talk about the weather.
We talk about work.
We talk about everything else —–
except the elephant in the room.

There’s an elephant in the room.
We all know it is there.
We are thinking about the elephant as we talk together.
It is constantly on our minds.
For, you see, it is a very big elephant.
It has hurt us all.
But we do not talk about the elephant in the room.
Oh, please, say her name.
Oh, please, say “Barbara” again.

Oh, please, let’s talk about the elephant in the room.
For if we talk about her death,
Perhaps we can talk about her life?
Can I say “Barbara” to you and not have you look away?
For if I cannot, then you are leaving me.
In the room…
With an elephant…

This I can share
by Marilyn Heavlin

I have not experienced the death of my only child, but some of you have.
I have not experienced a child dying by suicide, but some of you have.
I have not watched my child fight a terminal illness, but some of you have.
None of us would dare say, “I know just how you feel.”
Even if our experiences are similar, no two situations are exactly alike.
But I can say,
I remember the pain when my child died – I remember the feelings of insanity
I remember the feelings of aloneness – I remember wishing I could die.
I remember wanting to share something with my child, but he wasn’t there.
So, my friend, our experiences have parts in common.  And parts that are different.
So, why should we listen to each other?
Do we have anything to share?  – Do you know what heartbreak feels like?
All of us do.
Do you know the numbness of grief?
All of us do.
Do you know what it’s like to have empty arms?
All of us do.
So let’s learn what we can of our commonalities.
We love a child but our child left too soon.


by Margaret B. Spiess

Everything is too quiet, Lord.

No one revs up the car
to a steady roar.

No one plays the stereo at a volume
to shatter glass.

No one talks to everybody who passes by,
telling his adventures.
(Even going for a loaf of bread could be
a happening.)

And most of all,
no one sings in his deep, rich voice.
Oh, Lord, I miss him so.

Everything is too quiet, Lord.

No one revs up the car
to a steady roar.

No one plays the stereo at a volume
to shatter glass.

No one talks to everybody who passes by,
telling his adventures.
(Even going for a loaf of bread could be
a happening.)

And most of all,
no one sings in his deep, rich voice.
Oh, Lord, I miss him so.

from “Cries from the Heart”
– Copyright 1991
Margaret B. Spiess

We need to
We “need to”
Celebrate their lives
We “need to”
We “need to”
Support one another. . .

There will be storms
There will be storms, child
There will be storms
And with each tempest
You will seem to stand alone
Against cruel winds

But with time, the rage and fury
Shall subside
And when the sky clears
You will find yourself
Clinging to someone
You would have never known
But for storms
by Margie DeMerell

Why Can't I Let Go

You were always my hero.
I always wanted to be like you.
You were my younger brother,
still, I always looked up to you.

You were always there for me,
even when things were at their worst.
You helped me through my hardest trials,
and WE always made it through.

Now as I sit here, writing these words,
remembering you and times gone by,
I’m trying to find a way to tell you,
I’m trying to say good-bye.

Nineteen years are just too many,
to just let you go.
I can’t believe you’re gone – you died –
and left me here alone.

Sean Christian Anderson
11 Nov 74 – 24 Jan 94Some days I’m fine,
some days I’m low,
but most days,
I just miss you so.

For so long,
it was you and me,
But now,
what do I do?

Each night I ask why?
Why I’m so angry?
Why can’t I cry?
Why can’t I let you go?

I know we’ll see each other again,
but 60 years seems so long.
I long for the day I’ll see you again,
waiting for me with open arms.

Brother – I love you and miss you so,
but now I need you most.
This time in my life is oh so hard,
I just can’t let you go.


Traci Renee (Anderson) Morlock
Written: Oct 94


by sascha

I wish you gentle days
and quiet nights.
I wish you memories
to keep you strong.
I wish you time to smile
and time for song. . . . .
And then I wish you friends to give you love,
When you are hurt and lost and life is blind,
I wish you friends and love and peace of mind.



is the key to
survival for
bereaved parents
Talk to someone!

And through all the tears,

and the sadness
and the pain,
comes the one thought
that can make me
internally smile again:
   I have Loved!

   *   *   *   *
The first time a memory
slides over us like a wave
of warmth,
we have turned the
corner of our grief.