Where She Resides

It was one year ago today that our second daughter, Fiona Quinn, was born. Her life spanned little more than two hours. How I wish she could have lived the way she was supposed to have lived; she would have had a wonderful big sister to show her the way. I wonder what gifts she would have had and what loves would have been hers. Alas, now she only resides with us as memories of two hours of life in a hospital room, of memories of dreams, and as precious ashes we keep in a music box.



"On My First Son", by Ben Jonson

Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy ;
My sin was too much hope of thee, lov'd boy.
Seven years thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.
Oh, could I lose all father now ! For why
Will man lament the state he should envy?
To have so soon 'scaped world's and flesh's rage,
And if no other misery, yet age !
Rest in soft peace, and, asked, say, Here doth lie
Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry.
For whose sake henceforth all his vows be such
As what he loves may never like too much.

Happy Birthday, Fiona Quinn.