Thanks to Rich for the writing prompt: Grandma Agnes. My grandma;s name wasn;t Agens but the prompt got me writing. I've tried writing about Grandma Rosie a few times. This might be the best I've come up with.
Grandma was sturdy.
She was a survivor.
She was a provider.
She was a sister, wife, mother, aunt, grandma, and more.
A rose, with occasional thorns.
Those petals weren’t delicate
They never seemed to fall.
But oh so soft to the touch.
I look in the mirror and see her ears.
I speak and hear her voice
I listen and feel her spirit
Urging me on.
Grandma had that look
She had that tone
She had that way
Of loving even when she disapproved.
Grandma had been in banking
Head teller and we could see
She knew how to count and save
And considered every coin to be important no matter how small.
She would tsk and oy and make us sigh
“Isn’t that something” she would say.
And yes, she was,
Something.
Unique. Loving. Critical. Supportive.
She was definitely something.
