Gramma died 25 years after she stopped mothering me.  But she left me something special, and I hear it whenever the need occurs.  A tune wafts in unexpectedly when I am kneading bread or hanging laundry on the line.  The opening phrase of an old  hymn bursts from my mouth:
     "Are ye able," I suddenly sing out.
     "To believe that Spirit triumphs," I can hear Gramma picking up the next line.  The verses poses a great question about faith, but I am thinking about what Gramma gave me.
     "Lillian," I answer, "thank you for my voice."