Your hand in my hand.
There are many important ‘she’ in my life.
My mother, aunts, grandmothers and my daughter.
They are the women that have left their print on my heart.
The directions I have taken for myself were surely driven by their spirit.
Many times during some of my darkest hours their hand in mine was all I had.
(The photo above is by click)
I open it now and again.
It reminds me of many yesterdays,
spent with a dear friend.
She loved vanilla ice cream,
black coffee and sometimes tea.
She was a grand old woman
and a wonderful friend to me.
Lying on her lap, She sat in her easy chair.
My head on one side and my feet over the other.
She sang sweet lullabies to me.
We sang hymns from the choir book…
the one She kept at home.
My bedtime stories came from the bible
and I remember her chewing gum…
Peppermint on her breath when She spoke to me.
She loved Wrigley’s.
Her hair was grayer than anything I had seen.
It was almost silver and with every bit of sheen.
After all these years I still can not believe…
She is gone.
So much to tell her…so much I have done.
Grandpa would drive us to church.
He never would get out of the car.
I think he was already holy;
She and I would go inside.
And we sang.
She was already holy!
Some Sundays, mine eyes cry.
Photo was taken on December 25, 1968.
Aunt Hattie, Dad is holding me, and Grandpa is to the right.
I had to touch up in places, the photo is damaged and scratched.
Dad would have just turned 23 and I was almost 4.