Remembering Honey

I first met Steve's Nana at his Papa's wake (her husband).  "Honey" was sitting in the front row of chairs, flanked by her sons. From that day forward, it became clear just how loved she was by her children, and them by her. 


Steve has many stories of his Nana and Papa spending time with them. He described how his Papa had a special spot on the couch, and Steve would sit next to him, holding his hand. 


When we had Olivia, Nana became "Nana Honey." I remember her coming to the hospital to meet Olivia. It was a long labor only to end in a c-section. I was exhausted and in such pain - but seeing her kind face and feeling her cool hands on mine did wonders. 


Nana Honey will be missed terribly. But I am confident that her unwavering love for her family will continue on, and, if we take a moment, maybe we can still feel her cool comforting hands on hers. 


*****


A dear friend's Mother-in-law just passed away, and she shared this poem. So fitting for Nana Honey. 


I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side, spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then, someone at my side says, "There, she is gone."

Gone where?

Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast, hull and spar as she was when she left my side. And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me—not in her. And, just at the moment when someone says, "There, she is gone," there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, "Here she comes!"

—Henry Van Dyke