“Reflections on Extraction,” Ensign, Sept. 1999, 58
On paper curled with age and worn,
In faded ink to edges torn,
I read through phrases much the same
As others I have read before,
Until at last I see your name.
My thoughts go back to when you lived:
Your home, your days, the work you did.
Our lives are mirrors of each other
At least in part because we’re mothers.
And through the years rolls on the plan
That Father in Heaven made for man,
For all must live and work and die,
Then waken new—so you, and I.
My joy is sweet to know we share
A bond with sisters everywhere.
Yesterday I saw your name
And once again the feelings came.
You now are free from earthly care,
And yet, somehow, I see you there.
I feel your love for one so new;
I sense your grief and sorrow too
For those you’ve lost, for heartaches past.
I pray that you’ve found peace at last.
In time and place you’re far from here;
I wrote your name and felt you near.