Posted by Roberta Grimes • January 11, 2025 • 1 Comment
Afterlife Research, Death
The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and staunch he stands;
The little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket molds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new
And the soldier was passing fair;
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.
“Now, don’t you go till I come,” he said,
“And don’t you make any noise!”
So, toddling off to his trundle-bed,
He dreamed of the pretty toys;
And as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue —
Oh! the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true!
Eugene Field (1850-1895), from “Little Boy Blue” (1888)
My mother knew many old poems by heart. She especially liked “Little Boy Blue,” and she would recite it cheerily as she went about her day. Somehow, it didn’t tug at her heartstrings the way without fail it still does to mine. Even today, I cannot get through all three verses of it without tears in my eyes. Back in the nineteenth century, before the invention of antibiotics and the wonder of protective vaccines, it was not at all unusual for a family’s two or even three young children to all catch diphtheria or typhoid fever or some other now readily preventable illness, and for all of them to be called by an angel on a single night. Indeed, the wisdom was that you should not become too fond of a young child until after it had hit the age of five.
Even as late as Little Boy Blue’s day, memorial photography was a common thing. Most personal photography in the late eighteen-hundreds still happened formally in a studio, so when children and young people died unexpectedly, they often then would be photographed for the first time and in a lifelike pose. Or a whole family would then be photographed, but with one child looking stiffly propped-up. I have a book of nineteenth-century memorial photographs, and it includes some examples of two or even three small children in the same family who had died together of a single illness. They would generally be laid out to be photographed in plain-crafted oblong boxes leaned against a wall, from youngest to oldest. The youngest might be a nine-month-old in a long white christening dress which spills out of the casket onto the floor. Next might be a little boy perhaps two years old, nattily dressed in knickers and with his hands folded, our Little Boy Blue. And the third, larger box might contain a girl of barely four whose hair has been fussily teased into banana curls. Again, she is posed to greet eternity with her hands folded, as if she were an adult. I look at such pictures with sympathetic horror. There was a long-ago day on which this young family had three children, and they were fighting mightily to keep at least one of them alive! But by the next morning, their children all had succumbed to a terrible childhood illness that is just some preventable nothing today.
My comfort is knowing that for three-quarters of a century now, sudden childhood deaths have ceased to be the parental nightmare that they once were. In fact, it is rare nowadays for a child that survives its birth to then die in childhood of anything except for cancer or an accident. So now we who study death and the afterlife can study deaths that seem to happen out of order for the fact that they nevertheless very often turn out to be deaths that were planned before birth, and they clearly were designed to serve useful purposes in their families’ lives. Not every gift is fun to receive!
This phenomenon of childhood deaths as planned family gifts is a tough one for many people to accept. Nevertheless, we are told now that deaths which happen in childhood are a crucial fact of a few lives that were well planned before birth; and when sub-adults die, their deaths were always planned, without exception. My Thomas feels so strongly about this one that he now insists to me that every death by any cause that happens before the early twenties is a planned exit by someone who didn’t need to live that whole additional lifetime, but who chose to be born one extra time and then die very young for the family’s spiritual benefit. Please recall the fact that we come to earth to learn how to better raise our spiritual vibrations away from fear and toward love so we can better grow spiritually. And then consider some of the many kinds of spiritual growth and depth and overall progress that can be gained by those who love and then lose a child.
Consider, too, these important additional factors:
Each newborn child is, of course, an eternal being. Having by now met three genuine newborns and watched them grow up, I can testify that this is true without question. I can recall looking into the face of each of my newborn children and being amazed to see not a blank stare back, flat and brand-new today. But instead, each was clearly a different eternal being, surprised to find itself in a whole new place, and each was registering all the emotions upon greeting this new world and its mother that would be appropriate for the unique human being in my arms that I would later come to know so well. My older daughter was looking around, curious, quite interested in the world but not particularly in me (she has Asperger’s syndrome). My middle child, also a girl, does not have Asperger’s, and she was glancing around, but mostly locking eyes with me, seeming to be glad to see me, and cuddling. My son, another Asperger’s child, at first was regarding everything that he saw in this astonishing new world, including me, with a sensible wariness. And that, my dear friends, pretty well sums up the three bright and beautiful offspring that remain at the center of my life today.
Every child who is born into our lives and then dies early as a sub-adult is, just as we are, a powerful, eternal being. Each child who transitions early from our lives never leaves us randomly; but instead, each such departure is lovingly and carefully planned before that child’s birth to be a constructive gift for all who will know and love that child. And, knowing this to be true, we can especially honor our children who have gone on ahead of us by not blaming God, and not blaming any human agent for the temporary loss of our child. Instead, it is important that we forgive universally and for everything, and that we forgive ourselves and our child most of all! That we will be joyously together again in the afterlife is a certainty, promised to us by God and by Jesus. And, oh my dear ones, how very great will be that day!
Aye, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place —
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
And the smile of a little face;
And they wonder, as waiting these long years through
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue
Since he kissed them and put them there.
Eugene Field (1850-1895), from “Little Boy Blue” (1888)
(Many photos are from Vecteezy.com)
Dear Roberta,
Thank you for speaking on a subject that many would rather not. My brother and his wife lost their son at birth, knowing he would not live due to serious malformation and other issues. It was hard on all of us as he especially is a dearly beloved sibling. It took many years of counseling to help them let go of guilt- due to their religion thinking they were being punished. It was a woman who could speak with the other side that brought his mission to their attention to consider-very much what you are saying-a plan to help them grow spiritually. They never had any other children, yet all the nieces and nephews are drawn to them like magnets!
I’m also grateful you mention your children with Asperger syndrome. I still struggle with my grandson being a delightful attentive baby and suddenly lose focus and be labeled autistic at 2. My daughter is a strong advocate but struggles with paying all the bills and dealing with the red tape to get help. I send money when I can. I admit I get angry with God sometimes. Seeing children suffering in famines, wars, from diseases-I’m thinking to help us adults grow and learn?
I really appreciate you talking about this. It’s such a trigger for me.