My dear friend Sus believes blue jay sightings are godwinks from guardian angels. Time and again these providential songbirds have appeared when she most needed one.

I possess far less faith than Sus, and yet I cannot help but feel a godwink appeared this week when I needed it most. It was not a blue jay sighting, but rather a poem that out of the blue flew across my eyes on social media.

Penned by Elizabeth Gaskell, a 19th century English novelist, the verse is titled “On Visiting the Grave of My Stillborn Little Girl.” The timing of my reading it was a blessing because Wednesday – July 7 – was the 18th anniversary of the due date of my wife’s and my third child.

A baby lost to miscarriage.

The pregnancy had been a wonderful surprise that infused champagne bubbles into our veins. Also, because my wife was then 44, the pregnancy was high-risk. Only after she made it safely into the second trimester did we finally exhale and allow ourselves to get fully excited.

Then came the heartbreak of no heartbeat.

“It’s for the best because something was terribly wrong,” doctors say at such times. Family and friends offer similar solace: “You can try again” or “At least you’re already blessed with two amazing kids.” They all meant well, but the heart does not listen to such rationalizations.

Honestly, the only soothing words to be said, in my experience, is a heartfelt variation of the simple phrase, “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

We had chosen not to know the gender beforehand, wishing to be surprised as we had been twice before. And yet, just as we had only settled on a girl’s name when our firstborn daughter arrived; and only had a boy’s name chosen when our son was born; we again had but one name selected – a girl’s – as if our hearts were as accurate as an ultrasound exam.

Perhaps they were. A few years after the miscarriage, my wife had a vividly powerful dream in which she watched a girl at play on a swing. The girl, the same age our child would have then been, smiled and waved. Instead of renewed grief, my wife felt deeply comforted.

Gaskell’s words written 1836 offer me similar peace now:

“I made a vow within my soul, O Child, / When thou wert laid beside my weary heart,

“With marks of death on every tender part / That, if in time a living infant smiled,

“Winning my ear with gentle sounds of love / In sunshine of such joy, I still would save

“A green rest for thy memory, O Dove! / And oft times visit thy small, nameless grave.

“Thee have I not forgot, my firstborn, though / Whose eyes ne’er opened to my wistful gaze,

“Whose sufferings stamped with pain thy little brow; / I think of thee in these far happier days,

“And thou, my child, from thy bright heaven see / How well I keep my faithful vow to thee.”

I have likewise not forgotten thee. I visualized her this June at high school graduation ceremonies for the Class of 2021; imagined her last year schooling at home during the pandemic; saw her 13 years ago walking into a kindergarten classroom.

Too, I have imagined her getting her driver’s license, learning to ride a bike, taking her first steps. Indeed, often when I see girls the same age she would have been, I imagine her in their place.

And I will continue this faithful vow to keep remembering thee, Sienna.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com