The poem Erin's grandad wrote for her:
To Erin
How quickly the world turns,
from expectation to despair,
from posies to garlands,
from life to death;
and life will never be the same again’
But Erin is not gone, for even when the busyness fades
into new routines of life,
even then, and forever, wtw will remember and know the feel of that tiny life within.
As grief fades from the unbearable,
with the bitter sweet blurring of sharp focus,
She and Dp will wonder sadly on what might have been:
“If only and what if'
And in proud sister Katie, what may now feel a passing rite,
only partly understood – for the joy of childhood cannot stay locked away in grief – as years go by, will ponder on games they might have played, and the friends they would have been.
And you and I; family, friends, and fellow voyagers;
adrift as we are on a sea of tragedy,
we feel the depth of love, of empathy, within each one -
a well from which we draw in our eternal quest for love.
Erin is not gone. The pebble that was her birth and death has touched us all with the silent ripples of that tiny pool.