The Scent of Her Grace
(In memory of Eula McInnis, 1950-2017)
I wanted to be just like her;
not in the small ways children imitate,
but in the quiet, determined way
one life studies another
and says, “She is worth becoming.”
Her food was renowned.
Prepared from scratch.
Seasoned with love.
Served with class.
She wore tailor-made aprons
like fashionable attire,
tied at the waist with dignity,
as if service itself were an adornment.
When she walked through a room,
a soft scent by Estée Lauder lingered
leaving the fragrance of elegance
in her wake.
Her hands wove stories.
Looped yarn into warm comfort;
Gave new life to old furniture;
And designed a one-of-a-kind wardrobe,
which I wore proudly.
But, in time, age took its toll.
When heartbreak never ceased.
Dreams remained unfulfilled.
And health slipped away.
Mom closed her eyes forever.
Leaving behind the scent of her grace.
Copyright 2026 Arletia Mayfield, All rights reserved
