Rocking with Love

August 23, 2021August 22, 2021 / Baydreamer / 41 Comments

Built with tender hands
and love for his daughter,
she happily rocked through
childhood. Then with tiny fingers
wrapped around books, they
rocked like her – smiles spreading
across their soft cheeks.
Adorable animals enhanced
the white finish – charm never
to be erased. As memories
of her father flooded her mind
like a scrapbook of Polaroids,
Grandma watched her grandchildren
with a full heart, for that special rocker
embraced new generations
with the gentlest rhythm of love.

**Our son in 1997, enjoying Grandma’s rocking chair that her father built. This precious little rocker has been passed down through our family for each new grandchild to feel the love.**

Red Lipstick

November 13, 2018November 16, 2018 / Baydreamer / 49 Comments

With childlike fascination, I stood in
the doorway, watching her apply a
little powder to her face, a
touch of red to her lips.
But even without this process, her
reflection was flawless. Can I get
this moment again? This discovery of
solace? She carried herself like a
delicate rose – possibly the reason
she cared for the garden like
family. Beginning as a bride, she
walked with grace, wearing satin and
a smile, warming that Milwaukee day.
She loved more than her heart
was capable, and time helped to
recognize the feeling, the power of
motherhood, the joys, the heartbreak, the
worries that never dissipate. I keep
her words wrapped in clarity where
their wisdom is readily available, and
I long to ask questions that came
much too late, to share stories
of her grandchildren. She would delight
in their tales. Perhaps, again someday.

Their Year

April 11, 2018April 14, 2018 / Baydreamer / 28 Comments

Dear Grandma,

Before my life
began, your light
was growing dim.
You were going to
Heaven. I wish you
didn’t have to leave
because I never got
to meet you. I miss
you so much. I wish
we could’ve read and
played together. I wish
I could’ve held your
hand while we took
a walk together…
I can’t see your bright
smile that daddy told
me about or your pretty
brown eyes. I can’t hear
your voice, either, but I
know you’re my Angel in
the skies.
Sometimes, I want to visit
Heaven just to tell you,
“I Love You.”

(These thoughts are in memory of my
mother-in-law, Diane, who passed away
in January 1991 – written from my young
daughter’s perspective, who was born
later that same year.
Of course, Diane never met our son,
either, who was born four years later.
And even though that was a long time
ago, it still breaks our hearts that she
never knew her grandchildren.) ❤