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This poem is written by a bereaved mother.

The road to Sorrow was a short road.
I was there before I knew it.
The road to Healing is a long road.
The Healing Road will be found if I want, wait and look long enough.
Some days I travel easily,
making good time.
Other days each step feels like a mile,
and I don't care if I ever arrive.
My sorrow is real. I can feel it,
and I see it everywhere I look.
This road named Sorrow never ends,
no matter how many milles I walk.
After a time, Sorrow Road doesn't seem to always be uphill.
I can find many ways to walk down hill, among the living.

Tonya M. Sandoval
September 9, 2011