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Poem to Mom on Her 51st Birthday  
In her 50th year, she fell in love.

The kind of awe-inspiring love that makes the sun shine, the clouds part, and every tomorrow dawn brighter than the one before.

The kind of love that is simple...
yet complex.
Yet so easily defined.

The kind of all-consuming love that in the blink of an eye,
erases all the wrinkles,
all the hurts,
all the tears of one lifetime.

People smile knowingly when she walks down the street.
"It must be love," they say.

And they're right.

The bounce in her step,
the sparkle in her eye,
the uncontrollable laughter that spills from her lips...

It must be love.

Who knew that the first glance at another human being could bring tears to her eyes? Or that the simple uttering of her name could sound so sweet?

Or that the answer to a million prayers
could drop down from Heaven in one fell swoop?

Or that love...crazy love...unattainable love...the mysterious love that hides in the shadows and lies just beyond reach...could be so unconditional?

In her 51st year,
it is well with her soul.

For you see...
the one holding her heart in the very palm of her hand...
is her very first granddaughter.

A baby girl with curls the color of honey and eyes so blue they could melt the heart of even the most cynical person.

And this baby girl reaches out a hand to grab her own,
and in the process...
grabs hold of her heart
all over again.

And those around her look at her and smile knowingly.

"It must be love," they say.

Boy, are they right.

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