She is old,
but she tells me of her past.
I must write for her,
yet my writing goes crooked.
She tells me of sturdy walls,
and more work than play.
About the steaming days of summer with no fans,
and the bitter days of winter with no heater.
She strokes my head,
smiling at my youth, and she continues.
She tells me of weekends full of chores and work,
of straw hats and streamers,
of rumble seats and roller-skating with tomboy friends.
Her stories tell of hard work, and a family of seven others all bound together
by love.
But most of all, she shows me strength.
"We were never deprived," she said.
"We had one coat, one pair of shoes, only what we needed,
but we were not deprived."
Her smile will live in my heart forever,
even when she is not here.
I will remember the things she sacrificed for me,
and the pride that seems to glow around her.
She loves her family so much,
has so much room in her heart for so many people.
I cannot convey in words how special she is to me.
She tells me of her love for snow,
and her hatred for the slush and mud that formed when it melted.
She describes to me the path from their candy store to the curb that her
father always told her and her siblings to shovel so the customers wouldn't
track the snow in.
Her family was so close, so loving.
I imagine that the love of their family kept them warm on cold winter days.
She has passed her love onto us.
It is strange, the way smiling works when it comes to the love of a family.
The way youth will smile at the old,
the old would beam back their crooked toothed grins,
and the youth would beam even harder, and then they would laugh
out of sheer love for each other.
As I look forward to Chanukah I know I will think of her, my grandmother,
while I light the menorah,
chanting prayers as I feel the presence of G-d surrounding my soul,
and I will pray for her.
Isn't it strange,
the way a smile will shine like prisms in the morning light?
Isn't it strange the way a smile will break to pieces instantly, and seem
to flutter about your ears in soft laughter?
Isn't it strange the way an elder will beam,
and the smile will be reflected off of every car window,
every ray of sun, and be picked up by every child on earth?
Those children will plant the seeds of laughter, and mirth will be spread
over this earth, as numerous as the stars.