Predestined Daughter Poem by Mark Heathcote

Was it a reunion a trickling joyous odd thought?
A baby girl, time born 05.15 weighing 5.15
Born with a port-wine-stained right hand and arm.
Isaiah 5.15 And the mean man shall be brought down, and the mighty man shall be humbled, and the eyes of the lofty shall be humbled:
28yrs on and 3 months back her baby was photographed with a white ray of light as though the chief of the Angelic guards were looking down
Striking through him an orb, while holding hands being picked up by me his grandfather.
Soon after illness, again mother and son separated;
Good or bad choices, a purple butterfly, birthday card.
Purple butterflies lead me to my firstborn in the morgue.
And a poem was written just hours before, it seems the muse wants it called Self-worth,
A phone call and 3 police offices stand around me stiff and tall,
While one little angel, wings-crinkled inside her very own forbidden walls
Her very own, forbidden front doorstep lies fallen without making a single answered call.
... Journeying back home, Ash, a word
In front of a scratch card appears on a shop counter, some joke, do I buy or don't I.
Memories long hence her recovery, but never really recovered.
A precious, new mother naked in the Mother and Baby Unit (MBU) Andersen Ward climbs the garden walls.

Memories a robin-attends-her-mothers burial
My daughter tattoos it as a symbol of hope on her right shoulder
And more memories, memories of two sisters who once holidayed in Paris
29th Nov a postcard Shutterstock image
A naked bronze woman smiles in the gardens of Tuileries Paris
She appears as start-up wallpaper on a grieving father's laptop
By Catarina Belova, 'Catarina' sharing a name shared by the other living sister, which later changes to the 360 Bridge, aka Pennybacker Bridge, on Capital of Texas Highway and Lake Austin, designed in the shape of an 'A' - 'A for Aislinn' '360' a complete circle? An Irish name meaning 'dream' or 'vision'.
On her way to the undertakers; inside her sister sees what I saw yesterday,
A red Robin tea coaster on the funeral services desk
While picking out the same wicker basket coffin and white ribbons
Her father feels she wants to lay her head down for her final rest.
And then I noticed if enough wasn't enough for me to bear
The Mortuary phone number is 01612192222
Some important birthdates father the daughter 22.03.66 and 22.09.91 And the funeral directors number 0161 223 0101
Odd for 17yrs I've caught the 101 bus to work.
And now the funeral car the hearse number plate starts with N70
My last address, is 70 North Road where I've spent the last 11yrs
Suicide, Suicide, Suicide, names I won't mention any more
Suicide, Suicide, Suicide, names I meet at every door I call
What were they all taken from us for?
5.15 And the mean man shall be brought down, and the mighty man shall be humbled, and the eyes of the lofty shall be humbled.

Aislinn's Eulogy

EULOGY 1
Aislinn's family and father are extremely proud of their daughter's and sister's achievements. She was an ‘A star student' in all that she did and done as a midwife and a neonatal nurse and especially as a wonderful doting mother to her son Alfie.
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Her heart was an open entrance with a welcome sign above it, warm to all and filled with immense generosity.
She would willingly give you the clothes off her back and expect nothing in return.
Her mother Carole refused - she wouldn't start pushing her out in the delivery room until the father-to-be, arrived at the hospital; when Aislinn was born, it was a joyous moment in time - filled with love.
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Some days ago, I was instructed to follow the purple butterflies that leads to Manchester's MRI Morgue, which then lead to the room where I held my daughter's hand and kissed her lips a single last goodbye. I tell you this because going through her belongings, I came upon the birthday card I sent her, the last one I'll ever send her, it was the shape of a butterfly, the colour of which was purple.
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When Aislinn was born after a long arduous birth, her mother was too exhausted to hold her, so she was placed in my arms first, honestly; somehow it felt quite odd - it felt as though in some way, this was a reunion with an old friend, we had both waited so long for that day to hold her in our arms.
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So I took her as instructed by her mother and adoringly dressed her on the bed in the hand-knitted cardigan and clothes her mother had lovingly, endearingly made.
And I buttoned her heart-shaped buttons while again noticing the port-wine stain birthmark on her hand and right arm, passing Aislinn to her Mum and shortly later then back again, I held her for hours without putting her down against the orders of the nurses as she clung to my index finger.
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The name Ash, Aisling is an Irish 17th & 18th-century language feminine given poetic name meaning ‘Dream' or ‘Vision'
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Aislinn was like one of those warm sunny tropical islands of Thailand, with no official state of religion. She wasn't exotic, she was more lily of the valley, but she had many positive firm beliefs and independent views.
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Aislinn, like many of us, believed we all carry some kernel of ourselves into a higher hereafter, places we all might meet and greet again, under some happier circumstance.
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Aislinn's mother Carole told us all her favourite flower was the daffodil and when she passed away Aislinn saw a robin visiting the graveside and had it tattooed - the tattoo was of ‘The Robin and the Daffodil' they were her symbols of hope moving forward.
I myself thought quietly to myself the yellow daffodil depicted both my daughter Aislinn's beauty and fragility, and strengths perfectly.
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As a child I gave her a large oval stone carved from white marble in the shape of an egg, it was against her mother's best wishes as it was very heavy fearing she might break a window or something else, and I told her the story of the phoenix as she tightly clutched on to it in her tiny pinks hands; how it rose from its ashes and then warned that if ever that egg catches fire a phoenix will rise for the flames.
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She reminded me of the story I told her this year, and laughing at me, she said father, ‘I believed in every word you said.'
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Today the family has placed inside Aislinn's coffin a box, an old gift in her possession containing 12 other boxes - containing rain forest incense sticks for all the sings of the zodiac to bring calm and healing to bring you to a part of the earth you will want to live forever. That is according to the labels on it, so let us hope they do some good here and around this at times dark world today as Aislinn herself would have wished.
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From early on Aislinn was a loving, caring gifted child - enjoying fairy tales, especially horror - she was an avid reader of the children's book ‘Goosebumps' filling her little library bag once a week, bulging, till all of a sudden she disliked the lot and said she wanted only uplifting happy endings and got rid of all those that didn't.
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So I am sure as the skies are blue and the stars are white. Aislinn would have woven a magic spell to change the outcome of her story, and found her very own happy ever after.
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Wherever you are Aislinn, we all love you and adore you. You were the best of us all.


1. Poem
Smiles the choice of rose hips-hue

Who brings me the tears of rainbows blue?
And smiles the choice of rose hips-hue
That brings to me the moons, gentle dew.
With kisses soft; as slender new.

Who brings me the laughter of bluebells white?
And dances those greens; like a garden sprite.
That brings to me the azure, morning light.
Like a thistledown angel; lost in flight.

Who brings me the meadows flowing flaxen hair
And whispering words spellbinding without a care
That brings me the same sense of wonders rare?
Like woodland lilies under a leaf-mould layer.

Who brings me the moons, gentle dew?
With kisses soft; as slender new
With smiles the choice of rose hips-hue
Why; yes, my child, it's you.
By Mark Andrew Heathcote


2. Poem
A poem written some hours shortly before our dearly departed Aislinn's passing,23/11/2019

Self-Worth

I have an incurable heart.
It gathers in the dark.
Starlight music, like a musical harp,
And shingles on a beach
All the sounds and rhythms
You thought it was far out of reach.
I have an irredeemable soul.
It can't be purchased or sold.
Yet, isn't its value like 24ct gold?
Banked in a vault worth
More than its confines can hold.
More than the limitations of an ever
An expanding universe can be safely exposed.

By Mark Andrew Heathcote


Burnt webbed stars in burgundy

Song written By Aislinn Heathcote

We lay in autumn.
Watching leaves is so pretty.
Falling from above
 
Burnt webbed stars in Burgundy
Take my mind off the stress in me.
I could lie here all day.
Just to push it away
But then you came around again.

 
It's funny how in my darkest moments
I see the most beauty around me.
And I get lost in it.
Just for a minute, and I don't feel the ache.
I just watch and wait for those.

Chorus

Oh, mother, won't you stay?
Nurture me today.
With your innate ways and love

Oh, I don't need any drama.
Not with me today,
I've been in the thick of it.
And I'm running away.
I want to find my Eden.
I need a retreat.
Or maybe I'll just wind up here getting lost in the scenery.
.....
You're in God's garden

You're in God's garden now.
There's love, deeply true.
Thousands of flowers grow, but not one blue
Though they take root in our hearts and minds,
Only beautiful petals now spend their time with you.

You're in God's garden now.
A place you envisioned and dreamed of
Where you can stand complete. And healed
By amethyst fountains of peace, love, and pure serenity
A once-heavenly heart held so dearly
now at ease.

You're in God's garden now.
Admiring its hills and rivers
A new angel greeting the ethers
A missed mother, daughter, and lover
And a friend
Our love for you will never end.

Poem by Aislinn Heathcote



Spattering of rosé wine

You were born on a Tuesday
Chock-full of beauty
I remember it like it was just yesterday
I remember you wore pink Aran Wool
You were in your hand-knitted cardigan
Your darling mother made with love.
It had 6, tiny pink love heart buttons
It was a truly stunning day,
That day you were delivered.

I remember we were holding hands
I remember you squeezed my index finger
One forearm had a strawberry birthmark
Spattering of rosé wine
You were so, beautiful.
The first child I could truly hold & call mine.
And call my very own.
I couldn't let you go
I couldn't release you
I sent all the midwives away, they, could all go home
The sun was shining ever so brightly that day.

Ah, where does the time go my daughter?
Now that I am a grandfather
You are supporting me, cradling me
Where would I be without you, I wonder?
Where would I be without my beautiful daughter?
I remember, light years ago
Like it was yesterday,
Picking cradle-cap off your head
Looking at your jaundiced face and thinking
How blessed am I to hold you
How blessed I for knowing you?

By Mark Andrew Heathcote