A Better Place

I was seven when my cousin died. I had never met him, my aunt and uncle never had much to do with our family gatherings, but I still felt the pain of the loss, even at such a young age. They wouldn't let me in the hospital room to see him, I wanted to so badly. I remember my step-grandpa took my younger siblings, cousins, and I out for ice cream and to the park so the grown-ups could see Steven one last time. Ice cream couldn't make up for the hurt I felt. They wouldn't let me see my cousin. He was about to be gone forever and they wouldn't let me meet him. He was 15 years old. He never talked, never walked, stuck in a chair with cerebral palsy his whole life. When he finally passed, I remember walking out the front door, crying as I wandered down the sidewalk outside our apartment, staring at a printed picture of him and the poem read at his funeral. I mourned for a boy I'd never met. I promised myself someday if I ever had a little boy of my own, I would name him Steven Chance. He would have the chance at life my cousin didn't get.
Here's the poem:
My perfect child by valerie geary

as my children were born, i wanted them to be
perfect. when they were babies, i wanted them to
smile and be content playing with their toys. i
wanted them to be happy and to laugh continually
instead of crying and being demanding. i wanted
them to see the beautiful side of life.

as they grew older, i wanted them to be giving
instead of selfish. i wanted them to skip the
terrible twos. i wanted them to stay innocent
forever.

as they became teenagers, i wanted them to be
obedient and not rebellious, mannerly and not
mouthy. i wanted them to be full of love, gentle,
and kindhearted.

"Oh God, give me a child like this," was often my
prayer. One day He did. Some call him handicapped,
I call him perfect!

In Loving memory of steven dale st. martin. he is over the rainbow in a better place.