Poem for McKenzie: Her True Story

Things happen for a reason and in their own time.

As a writer, there have been a few times when the writing came almost too easily, like from somewhere outside of me. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it’s like being caught in a magic ‘writing zone’ and it’s amazing.

As I will explain, sometimes when that happens, it can turn out to be very strange and frightening, too.

It was 1999 and I needed one more poem to finish my first manuscript. It was a poetry book for children, written all from a child’s point of view. I wanted the book so badly I could taste it.

This was one of those times I found myself in that ethereal ‘writing zone’ and as I typed, the words just came. When I was done typing, I read what I had written and I was stunned. Its theme was so different from what I normally write for children.

The poem was also written from a child's point of view, but it was about a little girl angel looking down from heaven and consoling her grieving parents. Even though the poem was ‘different’, it had a sense of rightness about it, so I included it to finish the book manuscript and put it in the mail to publishers.

I quit my full time job and put all of my time into sending the manuscript to publishers hoping for a book contract. I gave myself six months. If I didn’t have a contract by then, I would go back to working full time. Maybe for me, writing should be just a nice little hobby —although down deep, I felt it was something more.

I got a lot of rejections. I could have wallpapered the living room with them. But I kept telling myself, “Keep at it. It only takes one ‘yes’ and you’ll be a published Author.” Two days short of my six month cap, a contract came in the mail.

Now, so I can finish the story, I have to skip ahead three years.

I was knee-deep in promoting my book through book tours, which included book signings, poetry workshops, Author school visits, and young author conferences, so when I was invited to do a huge Author School Visit in Circleville, Ohio, I added it to my schedule.

Over a three day period, seven smaller elementary schools would be bussed from surrounding towns to one central school where I would speak to groups of students in the school’s large library. During each presentation, the children would sit on the floor in front of me in a wide semi-circle.

Over that three-day period, I gave five one-hour presentations each day. It was exhausting, but it went smoothly. One school had even memorized all of the poems and the kids said them right along with me and —-I was awed.

By the end of those three days, I had formed several friendships with teachers and the librarian at the main school. On the last day, they surprised me with a nice luncheon and gifts, some the students had made.

Two weeks later, I received an email from the librarian with sad news. One of the 2nd grade students, a little girl named McKenzie, had been killed in an auto accident. Her mother and little brother were also in the car and injured, but they had been released from the hospital and allowed to go home.

The librarian wanted me to know how much McKenzie loved the poem about the angel child in heaven. She carried my book everywhere she went and read the poem to anyone who would listen, even strangers. McKenzie told them she was not afraid to die, because she was the little girl angel in the poem.

I was so deeply touched by reading the librarian’s email. After I had a good cry, I called and talked with her on the phone. She said McKenzie’s parents had the poem printed on pink paper and at the wake, they gave a copy to everyone who attended McKenzie’s memorial service.

I began to see why three years earlier I was given the words to write the poem. There had been a reason for it to be included in the book. Although I wasn’t given the reason at the time, I was glad I trusted my intuition. It still give me a strange and eerie feeling, just the same.

Nothing had ever touched me so deeply or so personally. I wrote to McKenzie’s parents and grandparents to express my condolences and to let them know how sorry I was for their loss.

When McKenzie’s mother received my letter, she called. She wanted my permission to have the poem etched on McKenzie's gravestone.

I have never in my life felt so humbled.

Shared In Remembrance of McKenzie:

“Letter From Heaven”, for McKenzie
by C.J. Heck

Mommy, Daddy, how I miss you
and I know you're missing me.
There are windows here in heaven
and every day I look and see

my toys all in the toy box
and my dolls up on the shelf.
I can't pull them in my wagon now
or hold them to myself.

I see my little rocker's empty
and your arms feel empty too.
I see the sadness in your face.
Mommy, Daddy, I love you.

My music box is quiet,
but I don't need to hear it play.
Mommy, Daddy, it's not needed,
angels here sing every day!

Please don't worry that I'm lonely,
there are children everywhere.
We are all His little angels
and there's so much love up here.

Mommy, Daddy, please don't cry,
heaven's such a lovely place.
God says you did your very best
and your love shows in my face.

Mommy, Daddy, when you need me
just look up and say a prayer.
I will see you through the windows
and I'll hear your voice up here.

[from the book, “Barking Spiders (and Other Such Stuff)”, by C.J. Heck]

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