Proverbs 31 Mother: My mom!

Dear Mom,
If you could see a copy of my college Shakespeare's Complete Works, you'd see that Shakespeare wrote several sonnets about mothers and daughters. Rebekah and I used to sit up reading these sonnets and having lovely conversations about the language. Later, Holly and I would talk on the phone and have some of the same conversations.
Sonnet #3
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest,
Now is the time that face should form another,
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb,
Of his self-love to stop posterity?

Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime,

So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
But if thou live remembered not to be,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.

So, Mom I wanted you to remember the story I have told you for a few years now about your hands. When I look at my hands I am instantly comforted by the hands that I remember as yours. Your image will not die with thee, and more importantly than the image of your face is the image of your heart that you have left with your daughters.

Love,
Heather