You probably don't remember me, but I met you a few times at my sister's house, (Julia Brindle). That is also where I met Justina. I remember her as a very bright and happy child, always laughing. We joked allot with her whenever we visited my sister. We lived in Canada for 18 years, so our visits were usually two or three times a year. Always when we drove into town we passed your house first on the way to Julia's and would "beep" at Justina first. When she was younger she was "around" more. I told Missy then that Justina would be a life long friend, someone she could always count on. I always asked about her and was pleased that she remembered me as her and Missy got older and spent less time together. My sister called me the night she died. We were away and my friend looking after the house called right away, as she could tell by Julia's voice that something was really wrong. I learned of her death sitting on my aunts sofa in Canada, so far away from Julia. I sat and cried with her and could feel her helplessness and sorrow. I can't even imagine what all of you were going through.
My daughter is 8 and plays soccer. This summer she played a really good team and as I watched the other team I sat upright when I saw a girl who could have been Justina when she was that age. Her hair and freckles and the determination as she played. I sat and cried at that game. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I willed her to have a good life and when they beat my daughters team- it was OK.I didn't mind because the little girl who looked like Justina was on that team. I pointed her out to my daughter after the game and wanted so much to talk to her. My daughter was "respectful" of my emotions, but didn't understand. Now when she plays, each team that comes on the field I look for her. I don't know if I have made any sense to you, but I believe that Justina touched many lives, like mine ,in her short life. I wanted you to know that. I hope my own daughter can grow to be like her.
With love and respect,
Dolly LaBelle

I think I saw an Angel, In my house last night; She was sitting in my bedroom, When I turned off the light. She was elegantly simple, In a gown of golden mesh, Which glittered in the moonlight, That shone upon her dress. Soft, golden threaded wings, Fluttered 'round her haloed head; I could barely see them move, As I looked out from my bed. Oh, so tiny ... so petite, Was I sure that she was there? I took another little peek, And saw her perched upon my chair.

For a moment I was frightened, Yet, I felt assurance, too; I wanted then to pick her up, But my body would not move. "Is she my Angel, God?" I asked, "Of course she is," He said; "And in the dark of night, She is always by your bed. "In the daylight hours, She often perches on an ear; Everyone has Angels, And they are always near." So I lay quite still and watched her, As she fluttered 'round the place; Soon she came up on my pillow, And I swear she brushed my face.

Then, as I watched, she disappeared, She completely left my sight; I lay there just an instant, Then turned on my bedroom light. I looked into my dresser mirror, And on the cheek that she had brushed, Was the tiny imprint of a kiss, That felt warm when I touched. Then I looked about the room, And what did my eye behold ... But there upon my pillow case, Was a tiny thread of gold.

Just like this poem,
I believe
Justina is a special angel to all of us.
I love you and miss you, Justina.
Gramma Newell