I never knew her like you did—
in everyday, familiar ways.
But I know her through your stories,
and the love that still remains.
She was your harbor in the storm,
your steady light, your guiding flame.
She shaped the fire that lives in you—
a heart too fierce to ever tame.
She bore her faith with gentle power—
a woman pure, steadfast, and wise.
And now, with reverence in your voice,
you call her blessed beyond all time.
She taught you love without condition,
how to stand firm, how not to bend.
She gave you strength to speak your soul
and fight with honor to the end.
You've drawn in closer to your father,
your heart more open, faith made new.
And still, I see beneath that grace—
the ache of missing what you knew.
Because a love like hers is carved in soul—
unchallenged, sacred, set apart.
She is your mother—now, forever—
forever stitched into your heart.
I often wish I’d known her more—
to share a laugh, a meal, a smile,
to sit and thank her for the love
that echoes through your every mile.
And oh, I wish she'd seen you now—
the way you father children mine.
She’d see her legacy in you,
in every choice, each steady line.
I know you walk a tender line,
between the past and what is new—
still holding space for Mama’s place
while making room for what is new.
So let this be your sacred ground—
a place to grieve without disguise.
No love like hers will be replaced;
it still lives on behind your eyes.
And on this day, I stand beside you—
to speak her name, to hold her light,
to say her love still shapes your days
and walks you safely through the night.

The sun shines brightest and most fair, when storm clouds fade from darkest hue.I drown beneath life’s heavy weight, where whispers pierce like daggers true.

Shadows haunt the road I walk, scorched by tears of bitter fate. Sinking deeper ’neath the weight, reaching for a hand—ere it be too late.

Around the twisting path there stood, a figure brooding, dark yet still. An outstretched hand he offered me —as if to bend the fated will.

Alas, I shunned the offered hand —for faith in man was long since spilled. My broken trust, like glass beneath, compelled my soul to flee, not yield.

Oh, but gentle and kind was he, for patiently he stood, Imploring me to take the offered hand —with all the grace he could.

I reached a trembling hand to his, my gaze a silent, pleading cry,
Searching deep within his eyes —
to will him lead, or let me die.

He gently folded hand 'round mine,
and raised me from where I had been,
To walk beside me, step for step,
through shadows of this valley dim.

Though he showed no trace of fear,
with every step we took,
We found a solace deep and still,
no words could ever brook.