In the End

A poem extracted from mom’s eulogy. Her name was Huda. As with much of my poetry, it is addressed to my son, but that is often but a presentation of how I have conversations with myself, in this case processing through grief and loss.

Dear Son,

What of Grandma Huda, you ask?
What words can I use
To honor her
To quench your youthful curiosity
To convey her essence
In this moment of suppressed grief
All I can muster is an offer of but glimpses of the profound and eternal

Are there not billions like Huda?
Proud mother
Singing mama and grandma
Stubborn
Independent
Proud of her mastery
Glad to sacrifice for little in return

Yes, but this one was ours

And in the end
Singing grandma was sung to

In the end
Praying mama was prayed for by priest, kin, and friend

In the end
Sacrificing being was showered with expressions of love and gratitude

In the end
She transitioned with those she loved unconditionally by her side

Hands held
Forehead kissed and body embraced
Support and encouragement offered as she transitioned in peace

And Hundreds of years from this day
When Huda’s name, words, images, actions, memories, and very life
Will have faded to oblivion
When this writing will have withered into the insignificance of the void
Her essence, unknowable and immeasurable as it is
Will be felt by everyone whose ancestors she touched.
Son, she lives in me, she lives in you, more than we can ever truly appreciate.