I read my mother's obituary In the quiet before the day, Words my sisters wrote without me— I had stayed out of their way. But somewhere in those paragraphs I stopped, surprised to see— Change the dates upon that page, And they could have written it for me. She played the piano from childhood, Girls State and co-valedictorian too. Years later, Girls State and salutatorian— I never knew how closely I'd follow you. Off to BYU to “bleed blue,” Then married in the Logan Temple too— And line by line I sat there thinking, Mom, how much am I like you? I never tried to be my mother, I was busy becoming me, Taking roads that looked so different, Building what I thought would be A life distinctly mine to live— My own work, my own story. But change the dates in her obituary, And it could have been written for me. She had a lifelong love of learning, New computers came—she learned them too. Then she took those brand-new skills And found important work to do. She spent her years in education, Helping teachers find their way, Working with the schools and people— And I've built my life much the same way. She knew how to stretch a dollar, How to make the pieces fit. Burt would say she saved the family farm With determination, sense and grit. I've always had that instinct too— To build, protect, prepare and save. Different circumstances, different years, But maybe something passed that way. I never tried to be my mother, I was busy becoming me, Taking roads that looked so different, Building what I thought would be A life distinctly mine to live— My own work, my own story. But change the dates in her obituary, And it could have been written for me. Her testimony never wavered Through the things that life would bring. She served wherever she was needed, And for twenty-seven years she'd play and sing. At the organ while still serving Anywhere the Lord might call— And I've spent decades at an organ too, While answering other callings through it all. Then I smiled at something smaller, Almost funny sitting there: She loved to clean and make things lovely, Bringing beauty everywhere. Whatever space, whatever means, She made the most of what she had— And decorating Christmas trees? Well, Mom, I certainly got that. 😂 Those little things that seem like nothing Suddenly had something new to say— Maybe more of Mom came with me Than I ever knew along the way. But there was one old story I had never understood this way— Before Rick and I were dating, Burt Marble stopped by his shop one day. He knew my mom, he knew my dad, Knew the life that they had made. Rick said he'd been talking with Helen's daughter, And Burt had just one thing to say: “If she's anything like her mother, Grab hold and don't ever let her go.” Before you knew the woman I'd become, Someone knew the woman I came from. And somehow he could see in her What I am only learning now. Before Mom passed Rick had the chance To tell her what Burt said that day. And he still remembers how her face changed When she heard him say her name. “Burt said that about me?” she asked, Like she couldn't quite believe That someone else had seen the worth She never seemed to see. I never tried to be my mother, I was too busy becoming me. Until I read her life in black and white And found my own there staring back at me. Her music and her love of learning, Faith and family, work and dreams— All these years I thought they were just mine, But part of her was living on in me. Before you knew the woman I'd become, Someone knew the woman I came from. Burt said, “If she's anything like her mother, Grab hold and don't ever let her go.” And Rick, you did. You held on through every season, Through everything these years would bring. And all these years I never understood What Burt had already seen. I spent my whole life becoming me— And only now I see: I am my mother's daughter. And I hope, if she can see me now, She's proud of what she sees.
