Martha Bell Marrow was more than a grandparent, she was the heart of my family and a symbol of grace throughout her long, wholesome life. As my last surviving grandparent, her presence carried the weight of generations, and her absence leaves a quiet space words can scarcely fill. Over my 42 years, I have only heard stories that speak of her kindness, strength, and unwavering love. Each memory reminds me that her life touched countless hearts, and that legacy brings comfort even in sorrow. For her memorial service, I wrote this poem. Writing from the heart is never easy, but when it’s for someone who meant everything to you and your family, it becomes a sacred act. I honor Martha Bell not only for the life she lived but for the love she gave, a love that will echo throughout lives forever.
Born in an era when tobacco fields sighed,
In a cradle of red clay, where dandelions cried.
She came into a world with more dust than gold,
But her spirit was fire, unbending and bold.
She walked through the south with bare feet and grace,
Sun on her shoulders, wind in her face.
Hard times were plenty, but so was her will,
She planted her roots on a Carolina hill.
A mother, a matriarch, a guiding star,
Her love stretched wide, reaching near and far.
Sunday dresses hung like hope on the line,
Pressed with care, stitched with hands divine.
She taught us to pray, to fight, to forgive,
To find joy in the small, and in service, to live.
She fed seven decades of children with soul,
Each meal a sermon, each bite made us whole.
She watched The Young and the Restless each and everyday,
Yet her truest stories were the ones she lived her way.
Eyes lifted from the screen to children at play,
Grandbabies growing, her love on display.
She never wore diamonds, but her smile outshone,
Every jewel in the crown of a queen on her throne.
She watched the world change from black-and-white days,
To color and chaos and digital haze.
But through every storm, she stood like a tree,
Rooted in faith, in love, and in legacy.
When she closed her eyes, the sky seemed to weep,
But we knew it our hearts, she’d earned her sleep.
Not rich in gold, but in hugs and in grace,
In every child’s laugh, in each loving face.
Now we gather, her branches, her bloom,
Filling the silence that echoes her room.
And though she has gone, her spirit remains,
In the songs that we sing, in the blood in our veins.
So here’s to the woman who weathered the years,
Who turned pain into wisdom, and sorrow to cheers.
Our mother, our matriarch, our heart’s gentle flame—
Forever we honor the wealth of her name.
Be A Man Universe 