Geraldine Diane (Lucas) Himes

The room is quieter now,

yet I still hear her laughter

woven into the curtains,

caught in the folds of morning light.

She moved through the world

like a lantern in a storm—

never asking the wind to soften,

only holding her flame steady.

Her hands knew the language of care:

mending, stirring, blessing,

turning the ordinary into

something worth remembering.

Though her chair sits empty,

her presence lingers—

in the scent of lilacs by the door,

in the warmth of bread just baked,

in the way we speak her name

and feel the air grow gentle.

She has not gone far—

only stepped into a place

where the light is endless,

and the love she gave

returns to her in full.

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