The following poem is one I wrote as a result of the death of my son. When my son died, I blamed myself - why wouldn't I, his mother. Mothers don't let their children die, do they? In my head, I had committed the unforgiveable sin, that which is an evil beyond the boundaries of hell. I know now that I could have done nothing - he died at 13 of a massive heart attack on a school bus. I could not have known, but it ripped my mind beyond being able to deal with logic - it was my fault and that was that. Time has a way of healing and logic regrows. It has been 14 years and lots and lots of therapy and prayers. This poem now reminds me of what it must be like for survivors of Hurricane Katrina, whose children did not make it and they are facing hearing the words "your child is dead." How many will blame themselves, many who could never have know the results of loss of this hurricane. No matter how hard people try, sometimes dying is not in our hands, but...still we initially blame ourselves.

An Unforgivable Sin

She kisses the fading temple
of his too young head,
her heart torn open,
her liquid falling face
as her child's prognosis is read.

Pain deprives her of reality
and she consults a mirror for proof
of her continued existence.
Isolated in sorrow, she cradles
herself like a spider clings to its web.

Passing time, the world moves
outside the mirror of her life -
traffic flowing as usual, day
and night pass to another day.

Her life hushed by the unforgivable sin,
she hears every syllable of the rain. @1998