A poem my mother wrote, before she passed away.
We read this at her service.

All day I’ve fought back tears
Starting sudden, unannounced, commanding me to attention
At the strangest times.
I was wrapping something-it had been my mother’s–
nothing much
even tacky
a quick thought but true
as it had been then….
And I thought: there can’t be fusion without parting.
There can’t be that measured road of parenthood, of childhood
Without the ruts, the tearing of earth, the uprooted branches,
Starting from birth, the splitting almost in two
As if seeming to break
But before ripping to pieces, falling down a soft tunnel of forgetting
Into a new scene entirely, another beginning.
Still, there is this time when one hangs
Very small, solitary, surrounded by thin air,
A spider swinging in the darkness
Assaulted by memories of light.
I remember those times now, though they are usually shrouded
By the velvet darkness that has cushioned and buried my many falls
That has with iron hands helped me up again, to go to higher ground.
Now stripped and bare
Whipping into my eyes in the merciless light
Snapped there by my own heedless forward march.
And I know that they will pass for you as they did for me.
But: small comfort for you that I say this,
You suspended there, hanging between the darkness and the light.
I know that I can’t pull you up.
I know that you will find your own way through the night.
And I know that you will inch slowly, surely,
With much doubt and misgiving
With much strength and grace.
In the morning your web
The one you thought you could not spin
The one I knew you would
Will remind me once again that there is no ending without beginning
That I will have no night that will not be eclipsed by your morning.