Dressing up, dancing, drawing,
or maybe none of those things.
She might have loved picking daisies,
and making chains of bracelets and rings.
Was there something particular she liked to wear,
would she sometimes get terrible knots in her hair.
How was she with homework and projects,
and did her teachers ever despair.
Was she in drama class, did she play chess,
did she insist on her dad checking under her bed.
Maybe she knew every garden bird's name,
and could tell them just by silhouette.
Were carrots a favourite, did she drink juice,
did she have a preference for one type of fruit.
Could she have been a bit of a rogue,
always trying on Mam's high-heel shoes.
All of the wonder, all of the fun,
all of the ice-creams out in the sun,
all of the days when nothing went right,
all of those days and all of those nights.
All of those years now stopped in their tracks,
all those ahead to spend looking back.
All of the promise, all not to occur,
we should all be so lucky to have parents like hers.
(R.I.P. Vivienne Murphy, an 11-year-old girl from Cork, who, considering where and when she lived, should still be alive today. Her parents spoke to Joe Duffy, on RTÉ Radio1, and her mother mentioned that Vivienne means 'life'. What they've been through is so sad, and yet they were campaigning for improvements in the health service in the hope that no other child will suffer and die, like their little Vivienne. Link to an Irish Examiner article here).
