A Rose for my Grandmother

I wanted to post this Poem and Pondering yesterday, but never seemed to have a spare moment.  I'm posting anyway because it's never too late for a reflection on love.

My grandmother died on February 14th  so it's only natural that I think of her in a special way every Valentine's Day. Childhood memories of my grandmother are enhanced by the many stories my mother shared about her mother. Most of these stories centered on my grandmother's faith. Your grandmother loved God, my mother would say. She would die for her faith. 

On Valentine's Day, our  focus on romantic love is misleading.  The following poem written by my mother for her own beloved mother reminds us that romantic love is but one petal in this fragrant and mysterious flower.  

A Poem for Rose Martorano
written with love

   by her daughter
Helen Grace

My mother's hands

were lovely and strong

and never idle for very long.

My mother's hands

would cook, clean and sew,

pray Our Lady's beads

or knead the dough.

My mother's hands

toiled extra hard

ceaselessly giving

glory to God.

My mother's hands

grew wrinkled with age,

and painfully fluttered

when she turned the last page.

My mother's hands

now fold in repose

And heaven embraces

God's newest Rose.