Warmth

Warmth By Miranda Proctor


The heart monitor spoke of life

Yet, his newborn son lay with death near, rumpling cold sterile sheets.


The gift of existence wouldn’t suffice,

So he picked up his acoustic guitar.


Strums evoked a blackbird, wings broken.

The heart monitor’s steady beep hid behind the notes.


All the while, he wouldn’t think about how his wife

Would never fly again.


Instead, he serenaded his four-day old son.

You were only waiting for this moment to be free, he sang.


And once the last note gave way to silence

He put down his guitar.


Life echoed in the silence

Between the beeps.


The cold hush

Whispered to him,


Urging him to free his son

From the cocoon of tubes and wires


So he could be swathed

In the unique stillness before eternal sleep.


For that marked the difference

Between life and existence,


Wrapped in his father’s arms

Just once, just once,


Before his blackbird folded his wings

And succumbed to the night.


Go to sleep now,

Little fighter, he told his son


As he passed him on

To waiting hands above.


I wrote this poem as a response to the terrible loss Chris Picco suffered. This poem is based on the video of Chris Picco singing ‘Blackbird’ to his newborn son, Lennon, hours before his death (at an age of four days old). Chris had lost his wife, Ashley, a few days earlier when she passed away in her sleep. Chris granted his son the gift of love during his short life by singing to him and then cradling him in his arms for his last few hours on this earth.

If you would like to view the video, click on the link below:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2832756/Heartbreaking-video-father-singing-Blackbird-dying-baby-son-Lennon-wife-died-childbirth-goes-Viral.html

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Life is precious. This photo shoot reminded me of how grateful I am for the life I live. But again, as implied in the poem, life isn’t about how long you live—its about how you experience it. Chris Picco not only gave life to his son, but showed him what love truly was in those last few moments. Life is love and love is life.

That’s why I choose to live my life by filling it with the things I love—hence the combination of fashion and literature in my blog. Sometimes it’s not that simple, but I hope everyone finds a way to live their life the right way, instead of merely existing. So I urge you to do whatever it takes to find the little moments in life and spread the love.

Love must be sincere.

Romans 12:9

Stay Unique and Spread the Love,

Thank you for reading,

Miranda

Featured Outfit:

All Zara

Advertisements

14 thoughts on “Warmth

  1. Oh such a sad story 😥 …”Life isn’t about how long you live—its about how you experience it” So true.. I agree with this one!!! great thoughts as always Miranda. You truly are an inspiration. I love the message of your blog and how you connect it with your fashion. Just amazing. I am always looking forward to your next post. I learn a lot from you. Thanks for sharing. ♥♥♥

    http://destinedtobegreat.14webs.com/
    The Wanderlust Keeper 
    INSTAGRAM 
    BLOGLOVIN 

    1. As always, thank you for caring so much and taking the time to read. It’s true, it’s so sad and it broke my heart. But it’s a message that we often forget. When I wrote this, it reminded me of your blog, because I feel like you live life with this kind of motto–that life is about how you experience it! So thank you for the inspiration<3

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s