WILMA MIRA (MOORE) GROOM (1907-1997)
m. James Needham Groom (1911-2000)
Wilma's Ancestors
TRIBUTE TO WILMA GROOM
"THE WEAVER"
By Jeanie (Harrison) Miller, Niece
Wilma Groom was like no other. She was a wonderful, colorful, unique and very important thread running through the fabric of this family. I believe that perhaps when we are born, God shows us that wonderful long fabric of the family into which he places us. It stretches further back than memory can reach and bit by bit into eternity as God hands us a bit of yarn and says now it’s your turn to weave. Some will weave with great abandon, brilliant colors, random stitches and some with no plan at all.
When we look at the fabric of our family, you’ll see a little pattern that’s unique from all the others - that pattern was woven by Wilma Groom. She wove her stitches quietly and close to home, wrapping each strand gently around her family, each stitch done with unconditional love. She did her work with an innate intelligence that was often greeted by disbelief and then total astonishment when she was invariably right. She always made the most of whatever it was that she had on hand and found intriguing solutions that no one else in the world would have thought of.
I have to smile when I think of the materials she chose for her weaving. I see that black thread she used to sew up that old rooster when she did surgery on his throat - remember? And there I see the straw from that broom that she used to outsmart that old cockroach. I took such delight in her and she took such delight in all the small things - things she never ever took for granted. I see the red of the Canna flowers she loved to plant, the muted colors of the stones she collected - seeing the beauty in each and every one. And I see the gray and black and brown of all the little cats and stray animals she rescued - and the green, oh my the green. She turned all those peach seeds into trees and the flowers sprang into life from her touch. But mostly I see the golden thread of her loyalty and goodness. She saw the need of her family with almost uncanny insight and she did whatever it took to meet that need whether it meant driving down a dark alley at night or hiding in the bushes to scare off the magpies. She was wife, mother, grandmother and aunt, but mostly she was just good. She was good. She was steadfast in her love and loyalty to the end. She wove a pattern like no one else could have. She wove. Oh how she wove! Quiet and gentle and close to home.
You couldn’t see it as you wove, dear Wilma, but now as God takes you back in his arms, take just a moment to turn around a look at the beautiful patterns you left behind for all of us. Oh how you enriched the fabric of this family!
Wilma Groom was like no other. She was a wonderful, colorful, unique and very important thread running through the fabric of this family. I believe that perhaps when we are born, God shows us that wonderful long fabric of the family into which he places us. It stretches further back than memory can reach and bit by bit into eternity as God hands us a bit of yarn and says now it’s your turn to weave. Some will weave with great abandon, brilliant colors, random stitches and some with no plan at all.
When we look at the fabric of our family, you’ll see a little pattern that’s unique from all the others - that pattern was woven by Wilma Groom. She wove her stitches quietly and close to home, wrapping each strand gently around her family, each stitch done with unconditional love. She did her work with an innate intelligence that was often greeted by disbelief and then total astonishment when she was invariably right. She always made the most of whatever it was that she had on hand and found intriguing solutions that no one else in the world would have thought of.
I have to smile when I think of the materials she chose for her weaving. I see that black thread she used to sew up that old rooster when she did surgery on his throat - remember? And there I see the straw from that broom that she used to outsmart that old cockroach. I took such delight in her and she took such delight in all the small things - things she never ever took for granted. I see the red of the Canna flowers she loved to plant, the muted colors of the stones she collected - seeing the beauty in each and every one. And I see the gray and black and brown of all the little cats and stray animals she rescued - and the green, oh my the green. She turned all those peach seeds into trees and the flowers sprang into life from her touch. But mostly I see the golden thread of her loyalty and goodness. She saw the need of her family with almost uncanny insight and she did whatever it took to meet that need whether it meant driving down a dark alley at night or hiding in the bushes to scare off the magpies. She was wife, mother, grandmother and aunt, but mostly she was just good. She was good. She was steadfast in her love and loyalty to the end. She wove a pattern like no one else could have. She wove. Oh how she wove! Quiet and gentle and close to home.
You couldn’t see it as you wove, dear Wilma, but now as God takes you back in his arms, take just a moment to turn around a look at the beautiful patterns you left behind for all of us. Oh how you enriched the fabric of this family!
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