She has gradually given bits of herself away — to her children, her friends, and now her grandchildren, each receiving portions of a beauty she had little time to enjoy when she was younger.
Beauty, of course, is made of broken things: days and hours, broken by fatigue; hearts and dreams, broken by the whims of fate and ill-kept promises — but what she spends is never truly spent.
In each of us there is a bottomless well of love and compassion. We just need to belief in it.