I wrote this piece several months ago after a visit to a local cemetery that interns several prominent Rhode Islanders of the past. In one area near a gazebo there was a small headstone that simply read: “Jean 1928-1934.” She was six years old. No last name, no ornate family plot nearby, just a praying angel statue beside the marker and a view of a garden and river beyond it. I imagined the angel was placed beside her grave purposefully and what her parents may have told her about it.
My dear Jean, I think you’d like it here – I see purple flowers blossoming on the hill, and sparrows flit about, singing merrily. the sun rises over the river and there is a break in the trees, so you’ll never miss it. I see swans here in the spring, there is a nest somewhere near – I know they were always your favorite. when the sun is high, and the breeze is lively, everything sparkles just like a magic trick – oh you’d be so pleased. and for night, my dear Jean, when I cannot be here, I leave this angel to watch over you – she is in your likeness, I made quite sure. when others walk by they too may be comforted in knowing a sweet angel watches over their children too. I know you are not alone but, be brave, my dear Jean. my heart longs to hold you close in my arms, your shining eyes before me, I pray it is never too long before I see you again.





Oh Robyn! This is beautiful, and I'm sure Jean knows. ❤️❤️