Family

Well Tate, Christian, Lindsey and I are in Hampton, Virginia for my family reunion. This is the Johnson-Alford-Hamilton side of my father's family. His mother, my grandmother, Geneva Alford Cunningham is our link to the family. We are tracing back to her mother, Josephine Johnson.


I'm always a little nervous when we come back to visit. We live so far away from everyone, we being my sisters, my parents and I. We've been in Texas for 35 years now, and that is definitely where I call home, yet my mother still considers Virginia her home. I know I feel a sense of detachment from everyone here, my cousins, aunts and uncles. We certainly don't know them well, and today I even mixed up two of my first cousins.


Yet, even though I rarely see my extended family I realize that this is like coming home. We may only see one another every few years, but we are family. That's all that matters. We arr welcomed with grace, love, joy, hope and so much happiness. We may not know each other's favorite color or favorite food, but no matter. What matters is that we are family. I never feel left out though I miss all the graduation parties, Fourth of July parties and Thanksgiving celebrations. The love of family knows no bounds.


As my cousin Pete said our opening prayer tonight I was filled with the Lord's spirit and the spirit of our family. As we paid homage to my great-grandmother and her children and all of us, her descendants I was overwhelmed with peace. And Josephine's youngest great-great- grandchildren was there tonight, my sweet Tate. Watching him bring surrounded by his family was precious. I cannot wait to share the rest of this wonderful weekend with him.


My Aunt Janice recited the poem below during the opening program. It's a testament to a mother's love and was a dedication to Josephine, her daughters one of whom was my sweet grandmother, Geneva whom I am loosely named after. I remember my grandmother's hands tonight like she was right here right now holding my hands or brushing my hair. Those hands were full of grace, courage, strength, discipline, fun, happiness and mostly love. Those hands were the extension of the arms that gave the absolute best hugs. My grandmother's hands.


I still remember the first time I touched and held Tate with my hands when they gave him to me in the delivery room. We had a precious few minutes together before he was placed in HIS grandmother's hands so they could take care of me. Though he may never know what it felt like to be held in our hands, I will never forget that first time my hand stroked his beautiful face.

Her Hands

© Maggie Pittman

Her hands held me gently from the day I took my first breath.
Her hands helped to guide me as I took my first step.
Her hands held me close when the tears would start to fall.
Her hands were quick to show me that she would take care of it all.

Her hands were there to brush my hair, or straighten a wayward bow.
Her hands were often there to comfort the hurts that didn't always show.
Her hands helped hold the stars in place, and encouraged me to reach.
Her hands would clap and cheer and praise when I captured them at length.

Her hands would also push me, though not down or in harms way.
Her hands would punctuate the words, just do what I say.
Her hands sometimes had to discipline, to help bend this young tree.
Her hands would shape and mold me into all she knew I could be.

Her hands are now twisting with age and years of work,
Her hand now needs my gentle touch to rub away the hurt.
Her hands are more beautiful than anything can be.
Her hands are the reason I am me.

Source: Her Hands, Mother Poems and Stories http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/family/poetry.asp?poem=1966#ixzz1ShcoO2Ce 
Family Friend Poems