Grandma

Here is another poem written in November, 1997 by my younger daughter. It's about my Mom who died in February, 1998, on her 95th birthday.

GRANDMA
With tired blue eyes faded by years
She looks at her loved ones without any tears.

Though some have passed on most are still near
With children in tow on visits appear.

Does she remember the time when younger in years
She could come and go freely without any fears?

An independent woman ahead of her time
Her dreams and desires not to be realized?

Born in a day when women were meek
Her humor and boldness must have been very unique.

A house full of children and a household to keep,
Were her dreams just dreams out of her reach?

Could she have been a poet, her thoughts would flow;
Or a healer of sickness, a hero in war?

Does she wonder what if, and then shake her head,
Too late for what if, she’ll take what she had?

Fine children, hard times, history before her eyes.
From buggy to rocket, pigtails to gray.
Those blue eyes missed nothing, I’m sure, along the way.

So much love she still gives us.
So much strength to draw from.

I know her eyes are faded, but before you pass
Look closely at my grandma and see what I see;

A woman of secrets and great mysteries,
knowledge and questions;
answers untold all hidden down deep;
that spark gives them away
inside those tired blue eyes
under that wavy hair of gray.
Julie 11/97