Author: Mark Spencer
Love was not a word she heard much as a child.
And those who knew her then said she rarely ever smiled.
She grew up with issues that shaped who she became,
She carried it inside her that her mother was to blame.
Then she became a mother with three kids of her own.
Raising them the best she could until the three were grown.
Along the way, mistakes were made, as it had been for her.
If kids arrived with instruction books errors would not occur.
Every child is special, unique unto themselves.
Like the faded photographs that adorn her walls and shelves.
Love was not a word she used often in her life.
Spoken rarely as a mother, even less as a wife.
Did that mean there was no love residing in her heart?
Or that she didn't know how her love, she could impart?
A strict, and rigid mother, taught her all she knew.
And everything she learned, she passed on to her kids too.
And they, in turn, made their mistakes, which left them amazed.
As their childhood influenced how their own kids were raised.
For we are all only human, learning as we go.
Teaching each of our children, the best way that we know.
And if we came with handbooks, who then could we blame,
If we still were not happy with the persons we became?
She was only human, with scars on her own soul.
Searching as we all do, for what would make her feel whole.
And if you looked beyond yourself, I wonder what you'd see.
A strict and rigid mother, or a frightened girl named Bea?
I for one will miss her, for I knew the love she gave.
When she took in a teenager that no one else could save.
And I was that lost boy, who couldn't find his way.
While every night at bedtime, for me, I'd hear her pray.
She asked God for guidance, to help me in my search.
She insisted that I join her every Sunday for church.
And though I hated going, her efforts I did extol.
While others tried to save my life, she strove to save my soul.
That's how she said I love you, and why sometimes she'd grieve.
She was preparing me for Heaven, if only I'd believe.
And it hurt her every time, when I didn't seem to hear.
Though I doubt you would notice, for she rarely shed a tear.
But I understood her, it wasn't hard to see.
That she wanted me in Heaven with her eternally.
Sometimes to keep me on that road, she used a heavy hand.
And I'll admit there were times it was more than I could stand.
I could have let those moments cut me like a knife.
And blame her for mistakes that I made in my life.
But I choose my directions, I make no other claim.
If I take the wrong road, I've none but me to blame.
So I'll carry her memory, remembering the ways,
She showed me that she loved me, for the rest of my days.
And when I reach the end, I hope that I will see,
Her standing at the Pearly Gates, waiting there for me.
And we'll be reunited, in Heaven she and I.
Until then Grandma Bea, I'll bid you now good-bye.
Comments on this poem/writing:
|Wayfarer (22.214.171.124) -- Monday, July 21 2003, 10:42 pm|
Every parent makes mistakes. Its part of being human. Your grandmother must have been a hell of a woman. Looks like she did okay with you.
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