The Heart of a Mother

Graveyard of the Boleyn Family

Chapel at St. Mary’s Church

 This is a place I try to avoid at all cost, but is hard not to return.  Here, in this place, my babies were buried.  My hopes for a huge family vanished with their last breaths.  I know I still have three strong and wonderful children; but that does not mean I forgot the ones who left this world so soon.

  Everytime I walk towards the little stoned graves I feel my heart breaking.  I lost all of them, at the same age, each one stayed for only one year.  I keep thinking that this coincidence was indeed a bad omen for me. It was hard to have them, and then… watch them slip away so soon.

 I remember the night you born Henry; you were so tiny; my first boy, your father were so proud.  He rose Mary in his arms and screamed that he finally had his first boy.  We called you Henry, like the King, to honor him and to give you a royal welcome to this world.  But one day…. you just… left, with no warning, in silence, sleeping, like the little angel you always were.

 And William, another son, another promise of prosperity and future of the Boleyn name.  Strange that you came to this world with strenght, but you left it with an extreme weakness. I saw you die, and one piece of me died with you.

 The curse of the one year lapse continued with you Margaret; my little flower.  You had the eyes of my mother, and I was so happy because finally my girls had a sister to play with.  I remember that Mary had a chance to hold you, Anne was too little but, for some reason she kept her eyes on you everytime she had the chance to be close to your crib. They do not not remember you, but  I do, I always do.

 And lastly, Catherine. You were so beautiful, I remember, that you looked at me when the midwife placed you in my arms; you eyes were so big, you looked at me, like if you were trying to see my soul.  And you did the same the day you died, in the cruel lapse of one year.  When you died, Thomas changed, he was not the gentle man he once was;  from that moment, I knew I lost his passion and love for me.  I know he blames me for the curse that killed all of when you reached the first year of life.  He started to work harder for the Crown and less for our Love; then, he took Mary and George away; and finally he turned his desires of power on Anne; and he sent her to the Netherlands, then to France, and now, here I am.  Alone with dead children; I am talking with sleeping angels; my heart is broken and they can not give me the comfort of their sweet smiles and pure words.

 The heart of a Mother is full of the joy of bring life to the world, But is also covered by the pain of seeing the ashes of those who once were the fruits of her womb.

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