Andrew

Andrew
Photo Courtesy of Scott Kirk Photography

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

THE FIRST SNOWFALL

The snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white.

Every pine and fir and hemlock
Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm-tree
Was ridged inch deep with pearl.

From sheds new-roofed with Carrara
Came Chanticleer's muffled crow,
The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down,
And still fluttered down the snow.

I stood and watched by the window
The noiseless work of the sky,
And the sudden flurries of snow-birds,
Like brown leaves whirling by.

I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
Where a little headstone stood;
How the flakes were folding it gently,
As did robins the babes in the wood.

Up spoke our own little Mabel,
Saying, 'Father, who makes it snow?'
And I told of the good All-father
Who cares for us here below.

Again I looked at the snowfall,
And thought of the leaden sky
That arched o'er our first great sorrow,
When that mound was heaped so high.

I remembered the gradual patience
That fell from that cloud like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding
The scar of our deep-plunged woe.

And again to the child I whispered,
'The snow that husheth all,
Darling, the merciful Father
Alone can make it fall! '

Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;
And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss was given to her sister,
Folded close under deepening snow.

This poem is entitled "The First Snowfall" by James Russell Lowell.  I've taught it over twenty times in the past twenty-seven years, but when I taught it this year, it had a certain bitter sweetness attached to it.
I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
Where a little headstone stood;
How the flakes were folding it gently,
As did robins the babes in the wood.

The words in this stanza have echoed in my heart since the snow began falling Sunday afternoon.  I've been visiting Andrew a couple times a week this fall.  Every time I've gone, I would gently sweep the leaves and needles from his headstone.  I like to keep it clean.  Now, it is under twelve inches of snow.  The hill isn't easily accessible in this weather.  How can I leave him up there all alone? 
       As we prepare to join together as a family this weekend, I have this empty feeling in my heart.  My son, the one child who I carried for nine months, the one child who I cared for during his sixteen years, will be on a hill covered in a blanket of snow.  My mind knows it really isn't him, but my heart still feels pain because he is there, alone.


Again I looked at the snowfall,
And thought of the leaden sky
That arched o'er our first great sorrow,
When that mound was heaped so high.

I remembered the gradual patience
That fell from that cloud like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding
The scar of our deep-plunged woe.

I thought I was healing pretty well, but these past few weeks have re-opened the sorrow in my heart..."flake by flake, healing and hiding the scar of our deep-plunged woe."  Lowell knew the pain of burying a child...there really is nothing to compare it to.


And again to the child I whispered,
'The snow that husheth all,
Darling, the merciful Father
Alone can make it fall! '

Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;
And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss was given to her sister,
Folded close under deepening snow.

My son is now residing with our Heavenly Father, but on this first major holiday since his death, I really wish he was here with us rather than being "folded close under deepening snow."

~Andrew's Mom

1 comment:

  1. "In my father's house are many rooms..." It's a comforting thought until it's your son up there and you down here. So sorry Roseann, for your pain, but please don't worry about Andrew being "all alone". It doesn't make it any easier for us earth dwellers to be in pain. Words cannot express. Thanks for sharing with us.

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