Beverly was a beautiful baby. Born in the month of May this bundle of joy filled every room with her presence. So mild was her demeanor, Beverly gave her mother no major trouble during the pregnancy or delivery. It was almost as if she couldn't wait to meet the world.

Beverly's mother was understandably overjoyed at the birth of her first born. The world seemed to stand still during those first precious weeks when they acquainted themselves with each other. The pair soon fell into a comfortable routine, baby reveling in the time she spent in the rocking chair in her mother's arms, mother memorizing her daughter's features, cherishing every priceless moment.

Beverly's dad was a farmer, and the trio lived together in a trailer house on the farm, the trailer parked nearby the old farmhouse where her grandparents resided. The trailer's mismatched furniture and sparse décor may have been an eyesore for some, but Beverly and her mother didn't mind. It was a home filled with love, and mother and daughter spent day after day playing and laughing, learning about each other and themselves.

Their first year together seemed to fly by, and mother watched in awe as her baby developed and changed month after month. She was an adorable baby, and her blonde locks began to grow, framing her face. Beverly, too, seemed surprised at her own abilities. From sitting to pulling herself up by the couch, she eventually took those first timid steps on a new quest for freedom, arms outstretched to her mother.

There's much to be said about a woman entering motherhood. Maternal instincts kick in automatically, and a mother will protect her child with as much ferocity as a grizzly bear protecting her cubs. Sometimes, however, maternal instincts are no match against fate.

Beverly suddenly turned sick without warning - just a sniffle the doctor said - nothing to worry about. But Beverly's mother did worry. She fretted and fussed over Beverly to no avail. Beverly's sniffle turned into pneumonia. She was soon hospitalized, her small body now frail in the oversized hospital bed. Beverly's mother never left her side, comforting her, holding her, and whispering reassurances in her ear. Everything would be alright. Surely, everything would be alright. Beverly's mother prayed day and night her daughter would soon return to her healthy vibrant self.

The pneumonia spread and soon both lungs were affected. Complications arose and on September 14, 1963, Beverly's mother faced every parent's worst nightmare: God called Beverly home. When sweet precious Beverly died that day a little bit of her mother died right along with her.

Beverly's mother was numb with grief. She would return home without her daughter; inside the trailer house the silence was deafening, and the walls slowly began to close in around her.

The next few days would be a blur as family and friends began to drop by to offer their condolences. At the funeral service, well-meaning mourners assured her the days would get easier. Anger and jealousy and bitterness filled the heart of Beverly's mother. While her friends and neighbors returned home to tuck in their babies, Beverly's crib would forever be empty.

Beverly's mother awoke the morning after the funeral exhausted and depressed. Sleep had evaded her for days, and what little sleep she did manage was haunted by her beloved Beverly dying. Each time she awoke with a start until realization struck: Her nightmare was now her reality. Everywhere she looked she saw Beverly. Her emotions ran the gamut, and she felt hopelessly like the biblical David, her grief Goliath in proportion.

Day after day she stumbled through the motions, but routine brought little solace. Life without Beverly seemed not much of a life at all. She did not make a regular pilgrimage to the cemetery like some, for she knew her Beverly really wasn't there; Beverly's mother sought God's comfort at home.

She searched her mind as to what she could have done differently, anything at all to have prevented the tragedy. Most mornings she couldn't wait to get up, but not because she was eager to greet the day. Rather, she was only relieved the night had passed. Her disappointment and her grief welded together, threatening her very existence. Within three months, she had lost 30 pounds; the food couldn't quite travel past the lump that seemed permanently lodged in her throat.

The days had turned into weeks, the weeks to months. The seasons were changing, and the depression of winter's gray days soon turned to spring's sparkling sunshine. Beverly's mother knew in her heart she, too, had to accept the changing seasons in her own life, but it seemed too much to bear. She waited longingly for the day when the pain of her loss just plain wouldn't hurt so much.

What Beverly's mother didn't know was her healing had already begun; dealing with the loss of a child would prove to be a very slow and continuous process. Each day that passed was a day moving forward. Gradually, she found herself taking comfort in life's little things: The sound of raindrops splattering on her tin roof, the sight of pretty flowers growing in the ditch. In time, she even found she could smile again. Oh, her heart still ached, but as each day passed she let go of her grief a bit more, and in doing so, she allowed herself to live.

In time, her days grew brighter, but the littlest things would set her back; some days were clearly harder than others. Each year when May rolled around she couldn't help but think how old Beverly would have been, how their lives might have been. Yet, there was always a little brightness poking between the clouds. Reminiscing about memories of Beverly scooting around in her walker and accidentally pushing open the screen door and landing on her grandparent's porch unscathed, inevitably made her smile, and all those wonderful memories soothed her aching heart.

In those dark days after Beverly's death, she often felt she couldn't go on, and yet there was little choice. Beverly's mother would eventually have a house filled with children, precious little ones to nurture. Her life, as it was, gave new meaning to the old adage, 'It's always darkest before the dawn.' Her precious children have since given her grandchildren, one whose birthday falls on the same date as Beverly's - something new to look forward to in May.

Forty years later as Beverly's mother shares her story, her words are mixed with both smiles and tears. While Beverly graced this earth for only 16 months, her mother's love remains eternal.

This story was meant neither to depress nor to dwell on a heart's deepest sadness. Rather, it was written with the intent to inspire hope in even life's grimmest hour. Losing a loved one, especially a child, is most difficult, and my words are surely inadequate. If you are grieving for a loved one and need help, please talk to a friend, your minister, or call a grief counselor in one of the following counties: Huron County (800-356-5568), Sanilac County (810-648-2164) or St. Clair County (810-987-9100). I thank Beverly's mother for sharing this very private story in the hope of helping someone else, and I respect her wish to remain anonymous.