You Don’t Know How I Feel
You don't know how I feel--please don't tell me that you do.
There's just one way to know--have you lost a child too?
"You'll have another child"--must I hear this each day?
Can I get another mother, too, if mine should pass away?
Don't say it was "God's will"--that's not the God I know.
Would God on purpose break my heart, then watch as my tears flow?
"You have an angel in heaven--a precious child above."
But, tell me, to whom here on earth shall I give this love?
"Aren't you better yet?" Is that what I heard you say?
No! A part of my heart aches--I'll always feel some pain.
You think that silence is kind, but it hurts me even more.
I want to talk about my child who has gone through death's door.
Don't say these things to me, although you do mean well.
They do not take my pain away; must go through the hell.
I will get better slow but sure--and it helps to have you near,
But a simple "I'm sorry you lost your child" is all I need to hear.