Mom lived her life for love of friends and family,
Neither asking for nor wanting a return.
Her days became a sunlit homily,
With others' joy her joy and main concern.
When we were ill, she also became sick;
When we were cut, she, too, began to bleed.
Of our oil lamp she was the wick,
Drawing her bright flame from our need.
Some say that such behavior's out of date:
That self-fulfillment is the way to grace.
But Mom, without much choice, then chose her fate,
Finding greater truth in an embrace.
She lives on in the sparkle in our eyes:
Laughing, quiet, gentle, loving, wise.

Author Unknown

You can shed tears that she is gone
or you can smile because she has lived.

You can close your eyes and pray that she'll come back
or you can open your eyes and see all she's left.

Your heart can be empty because you can't see her
or you can be full of the love you shared.

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

You can remember her and only that she's gone
or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.

You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back
or you can do what she'd want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

Author Unknown