Adrian Joseph Whiting III
(1968 - 1999)
JOEY, Dear Son, I don't think you knew how much you were loved -- I'm sorry I allowed your habit to come between us; after all, I was the adult and the mom. I now think "tough love" is stupid. I regret so much not telling you how much I loved you and hugging you each day.Memories of Joey
The ice cube trays
now stay filled.
My Jimi Hendrix
impressionist lies still.
My son, my heart,
sweet memories
of Bingo songs
and "gaaahweees!"
of "where's my momma?" --
"here she is!"
Little hands for mom
skillfully weaved
a macramé' with
a yellow wooden bead.
A Mongoose bike and
tears filled your eyes
that you would receive
such a prize.
Compassionate and kind,
loving and warm,
never to anyone did
you wish harm.
Comforting words from
my grown son,
"Mom, I forgive any
wrong you've done."
Wounded again, your
repentant heart given so
in an eye's twinkle He
promised you heaven.
My Christmas baby of '68
went to sleep and didn't wake.
I'd give my life to
bring you back if only
life would work like that.
In Jesus' arms may
you find rest; to Him
and me I've been so blessed.
With tears because I miss you,
With joy because you're free,
I dedicate this with
all my love, precious son,
to you from me.
Mom
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