You were my best friend, and I saw your pain then, so full of sorrow you thought life was based on sin. You told me things you never told anyone else to keep in my heart…I never knew in the end we'd be so far apart.

When she left you, I stood by your side. You told me how she cheated and how she lied. He betrayed your trust; he was your best friend. He was supposed to be there for you in the end. Then, for awhile, you held your head tall…who ever guessed one day you would fall.

When you told me you loved me, I thought your life was full of joy. Your eyes shined bright like you had a new toy. We shared moments no one ever knew. You shed tears and told me how you were blue. I guess your soul was too torn to share in the love. Instead of my arms, you're in God's above.

I'll always love you, and I'll never let go, You'll be in my heart like a bright shining glow. So fly high, Brave One, free as a bird. I'll never let anyone say a harsh word. Be at rest, my love, this promise I'll keep—I know the truth and how you were hurting so deep. I understood how you felt, because I was once there…that no one loved you and no one cared. By the time I met you, too many years had gone by. You just didn't have any more strength to try. But when you left, you finally knew you belonged. You had a family, accepted, you were no longer wrong.

I'll always cherish the time we had, and I'll try my best never to be sad. Adam, your cry for help was finally heard, but now it's too late. Your soul's at peace, no more pain, no more fear, no more hate.

Copyright © 2002 by Tonya Seay. All rights reserved.

My name is Cristy, and I am a mother of two. My daughter Ashley is 14-years-old and my beloved son Zachary is now in heaven.

“Walking Kirby to Class” is an excerpt from Thom’s book, Embracing Fear.

Out here, in the so-called real world, to the untrained eye, I was a psychotherapist and Kirby was my client. I was the shop owner and she was the customer. And in all the official, appropriate ways, it remained so—from beginning to end.

On January 27, 1995, my father was involved in a tragic accident. He had some men working at his home on a defective furnace. In the course of the morning, he decided to go to town to buy a newspaper. He always joked that he had to read the newspaper daily to see if he was in the obituary. This morning was no different.

She looked so beautiful today. Her hair was long, her face was glowing. She looked like she did on her wedding day some 23 years ago. She was celebrating her 43rd birthday dancing around and around like a little girl expressing her innocent happiness. She gives me a great big bear hug. “I love you,” she says. “I love you too. So what’s it like? You look so happy.” “Oh, it’s wonderful here,” she replies. “You know I have a microwave and I can eat anything I want. You never have to go to the bathroom. It’s heaven!”

One day, at a very early age, Katie was born into the Caterpillar family. Her life started as most young caterpillars do. She was wide-eyed and completely innocent. There was no awareness of good or evil; those things would have to wait. She had her whole life to learn of such things. Right then the world about her was so big, wonderful and full of fun. It was all hers to explore and enjoy. Little did she know that a tragic event would take place, and that event would give her life a direction and purpose while on this earth. This is a story of self-preservation and survival until the day this young caterpillar emerged from her cocoon to find that a metamorphosis had taken place.

I am 22-years-old and my life is utterly hopeless. The days run into each other, and I can hardly get myself out of bed in the morning. I call in sick at work a lot and sit home alone in my studio apartment moping and thinking about the end of my future. I am consumed with death and feel like the only time I’m actually doing something constructive is when I’m thinking of ways to kill myself.

The realities of grief hit at the most unexpected moments.

Many years ago when my stepfather died, I watched my mother go through the different stages of grief. I yearned to help her through it as she seemed so fragile, but I knew it was something she would have to deal with on her own terms. Over time, I believed she was doing quite well until the day I found her sitting in the floor cradling a beach ball and crying her heart out. Her grief overwhelmed her but I couldn’t understand the connection with the beach ball.

Our grandson died Thursday, the 25th of February, 1982, upon returning from kindergarten at the Immanuel Lutheran School in Waterloo, Iowa. Ryan got off his school bus, walked a block on the sidewalk and began crossing the street in front of another stopped, off-loading school bus.

This story is about a modern day miracle. Not really a life changing, earth-shattering miracle by any means, but one that has special meaning for my family and me.