I do not know.

When children are taken my heart shatters… I can picture my own at the age of those poor babies.  I think of how those families must feel, wearing the weight of the sympathetic hands of friends and neighbors and, in this age of instant news, even the nation and the world.  And I think I hear their fragile thoughts…  “You did not know my child & now you never can.  You do not know my wrenching grief & I pray you never will.”

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
    Beside the springs of Dove,
Maid whom there were none to praise
    And very few to love:

A violet by a mossy stone
    Half hidden from the eye!
—-Fair as a star, when only one
    Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know
    When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
    The difference to me!

— An excerpt from William Wordsworth’s Lucy.


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