Grandma knew the cures
for scraped knees and upset tummies;
she even had advice for healing
broken hearts and troubled souls;
her kind ways minimized scarring
from the inevitable falls in life.
But I wish she’d shared the secret
of how I’d survive without her,
or how to get over missing her
when holidays and birthdays roll ’round.
Maybe only time can heal this wound.
She died, and my head felt dizzy as if water surrounded me,
searching for my bearings as I struggled to accept the loss.
And then he died, and I felt engulfed in tidal waves,
ebbing and flowing between my loss and his new peace.
But I’m now caught in an eddie in the sea of grieving,
kicking to stay afloat; stroking to soothe my soul as yet
a younger family member is unexpectantly called home.
Yet I know I’ll not drown for my life raft of inner strength
keeps me afloat as I row toward calmer days.
He left, but he didn’t leave us.
Memories flood my mind,
flowing so fast at times I
stop to let them absorb me.
I’m reminded how he filled our lives,
how his wisdom seeped throughout,
how his generosity spilled over,
how his love melted our hearts.
I see him when I look in the mirror,
when I watch his children garden,
when I watch the grandchildren play,
or when I look into the clear, blue sky.
Yes, he left, but he didn’t leave us.
Distressed beyond repair,
his body broken down,
years of daily living
finally take their toll.
Assistive, caring hands,
help bring a calm resolve,
labored, shallow breaths
replaced by even sounds.
As we sit here by his side,
listening to him sleep, his
quiescent repose grants
peace to grieving hearts.