Roy died, I don't really know why.
My tears keep flowing, and they won't stop.
I have to talk about my son's death, over and over again.
They say that by talking about a sad,
Situation, the pain won't be so bad.
I don't know about that. As I reflect
On the days that Roy was with me, I
Remember how small he felt in my arms.
He was home just a little while when
One day, he just stopped breathing.
Oh, my child, my sweet boy, why did you die?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lynn: I felt the same when my Betty died, went into depression gave up on life, then one day at the cemetary while saying prayers in the absense of nothing I heard her say {there is a hill overlooking cemetary) Her words I hear, was go on with life, a no time to waste as I was to be there in not to distance future, Please don't grieve as your son for he is being taken of better than this eartly life, be happy for the memories you will soon be with him and all your love ones, I know, I know, I have been there. Charles Garcia