Goodbye, Farmor

This is a very belated post for my grandma, who I called Farmor. (Swedish for father's mother) She died a little over a month ago now, and at the funeral I wrote a poem. I mentioned this earlier and how I was planning on posting it. Well, here it is! (finally)

She was a Queen,

more regal and elegant as any royalty.

Her heart was made of gold,

but she shared the treasure

to ensure everyone was as rich as her with love.

She was a superstar,

wearing her oversized sunglasses

as if to hide her identity,

but it was those sunglasses

that would always identify her.

She was a model

who was always the star of a photo,

no matter if that photo

was supposed to be of her or not.

She was the support

of the household, who helped

her children grow and flourish,

and in turn they took her hand

to return the support four times over.

She was a five star chef,

who made sure everyone was settled

and happy before she started her own meal.

Even the pickiest of eaters

could not complain about her food.

She was entertainment and audience combined,

always laughing, even if she didn’t understand

what she was laughing at.

It was contagious. Only the stone-hearted

could not find joy in her presence.

She was a critic,

the very best one would ever find.

Everyone and everything was beautiful,

and to her it was never a lie,

even if you wore nothing but a potato sack.

She was the wind

that blew the clouds away

to reveal the sun behind,

and when the rain was tears,

the sun was her smile.

She was Christmas, Thanksgiving, Halloween

and any holiday in between.

She was the slow unwrapper, who had

little care in what the present actually was,

for she knew the real gift was being with her family.

But most importantly, she was a mother,

who raised her four children to become

mothers and fathers themselves.

And she still is an inspiration,

to overcome obstacles as large as

oceans and countries, or as small as

a bed in a hospital.