O precious Lord, O Lord of life, explain to me Thy mystery.
Death crept in the other day death and took my child from me,
I loved her so, so very much, the words I cannot say,
This loneliness, deep inside, the tears I shed for thee,
O Blessed God, O God of Life! Why hath she gone from me?
I remember that glorious day - when all the world at once she knew,
She cried the joyful song - I am - 'twas then the truth I knew.
This was the world I loved so much and dreamed of future lives,
When my child, my darling child, would bring a life to come.
Springing from her the breath of joy, another child whose life would be, A small but gentle part of me.
She was the sun and I was the flower, And the warmth she gave to me,
Was more than a hope-a cherished-hope - it was the reality.
The sorrow I feel I cannot hide, It echoes in my heart.
For every time the sun shines bright - I see my blessed child.
Reminding me, reminding me, that for one moment, one special moment,
She was a part of me, and all that was - was in the love - I felt so much for Thee.
What can I say, what can I do, what is the remedy?
To quell this pain that suffers me to keep this agony.
But now I know - I know at last - my God my blessed God,
That beautiful part she shared with me is totally and finally
A glorious unity and oneness with thee.
Praise be to God that I might know Thy Love inherent in Thy Mystery.
Nenad [Cuic] Downing
University of Tennessee, Knoxville, Tennessee. December, 1973
As a senior elective - I was taking a course in Indian (Asian) religious concepts such as the study of Vedata and cultural aspects. One morning Dr. Lusby, whom I also believe was the department head, came into the class very distraught. He explained to the class that one of his teacher's infant daughter had suddenly died the previous night and the teacher was overwhelmed with grief and would the class mind if it was canceled for the day. No one objected. For reasons I do not understand, I could not continue other classes or study for the rest of the day, even though examinations were nearing. That night in my bording room I wrote as I felt. I took the letter to give to Dr. Lusby that he might pass it along to his teacher and friend. But Dr. Lusby had moved to another address so I returned home. That was 49 years ago. I suppose Dr. Lusby has died as has most of my friends and those others whom I have admired so much. As we all must someday approach our own journey's end - I thought I would share these feeling though I know I am not worthy of being called a poet, this is how I felt that day.