In her grandchildren,
her spirit is woven– What a tapestry These children create.
The strongest fibers
of her determination run In the eldest, wearing her grandmother’s face, Though she never knew her.
Threads of her courage and strength
Weave into the only one who knew her, Who can remember the smell of her beef stew, As the grown child wages a battle for her life.
Yarns of responsibility and fun spin
In the lone grandson, As he raises his son And forgets not how to play.
The delicate fine threads of her caring and her dreams
Spin through the twins, Born too late to know her, One doing what must be done to care for others. the other creating a business of her art.
The warm, soft yarn of her love and generosity weaves through the youngest, my daughter, Born under the same December sun, As she becomes a nurse caring For babies born too early.
In my mother’s grandchildren,
A tapestry of faith is woven, And I am taught DNA is more than science, Woven with soul upon Some ancient loom. This tapestry of spirit Where my mother lives still.