In loving memory
“In Loving Memory”
It is the language within me that must transform, Lucky number seven, she used to say, “I bore seven children,” with the birthing help of — your grandmother, Ellie. seven signed birth certificates
Today, the seven of us find solace, Knowing she rests in peace. Each holds a personal memory of our mother, Some days were rough, but we persevered.
Seven small bowls, seven cups, seven spoons, A chorus of voices would call out: “Maymay,” “Esther May,” or “Granville Clarke’s wife.” Through tears and aching hearts, we celebrated her.
She taught us strength, resilience, and hope, In her native tongue, she’d say, “Don’t follow patterns; think for yourselves.” Unique interpretations blossomed within us.
Favorite colors eluded her, Yet I grant her the power of black. Her laughter was music, her smile—sunshine, In her presence, troubles dissolved.
Now she’s gone, leaving an irreplaceable void,
Rest in peace, dear Maymay,
Your words will forever shine bright in our memories.
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