When she died,

she didn’t even pause to close her eyes,

as if watching my reaction,

I reacted badly: Grandma dies.


At sunset a Learjet blazed its busy way

across the summer sky.

And life goes on,

no matter how I feel,

no matter who has gone.


At sunrise through red eyes,

every moment

absorbed with memories and gladness,

with the terrible, aching, sadness of it all.

And cars drive by,

and babies cry,

and cats beg to be fed,

and all the while my mind mutters;

She’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead.

But that doesn’t change it,

so I stagger on instead.


Days get cold

with stories left untold.

I miss her knowing look,

and cuddle to my chest

her cherished cooking book.

The window darkens

– she used to love a storm,

we’d snuggle up together,

safe and loved and warm.


One year later and I cry

– it’s been a while since I last had.

There are things in my life

that she doesn’t know,

and that makes me sad.

But I do what I do,

because I always knew

that this time would come.

I’d been told she was old.


Years pass.

Her clothes look dated in the last photograph.

I dust it tenderly,

press a kiss to the glass.

She hugs me from within now,

so I am never without.

I gently place it down and smile,

and forget it for a little while.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s