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He Has A Name He has a name, I said. He is not just a number or a statistic. He was a real, live human being. He wasn't just a set of empirical facts. He has a name. His name is Joey. He had the brightest, darkest blue eyes you have ever seen. Oh how they sparkled when he laughed. And they shone with his baby tears. Those eyes never missed a thing, and connected me to his very soul. He has a name. His name is Joey. He had beautiful, soft skin. He was olive tinged -- the kind of skin that tans without burning. And he had lots of dark, thick hair. And a wonderful, pug nose. The kind that you beep. He has a name. His name is Joey. He had feet like his Daddy's, and a face shaped like his brothers. He looked like his GrandDad. And like me. He has a name. His name is Joey. He was wonderful, and cuddly, and laughed like an angel. He loved his baths, and he HATED to wait for a feeding or a diaper change. He has a name. His name is Joey. He had a personality distinct from anyone else, and a purpose on this earth. His life counted for something. He has a name. His name is Joey. He is loved and missed by his two brothers. He will always be our baby. We will always be his parents. He has a name. His name is Joey. You will never know him like I did, if you just read your statistics, and consult your papers. You will only know that he died. You cannot know how he lived. He has a name. His name is Joey. His life will always be remembered. By sharing it, I can make him live on, in me and in you. He has a name. His name is Joey. |
