I was buying a parking pass from a sketchy, one-room portable office because the people that designed and built my building forgot that people have cars and
I keep my phone on silent so I missed the first call and
I knew my Grandma was having surgery that morning to replace a valve in her heart and
I knew my Mom wouldn't call unless there was a reason so as I was walking back to the bus stop, I gave my mom a ring.

It was mid-September and
we cried together but apart and
I decided to walk the 5 km home 'cause I didn't want to break down on the bus and
it was a beautiful day and
I knew that people would stare.

Mom said there was a 4% chance it would go bad and
we knew the odds were ok but she was 92 years old and
she never really was one for odds, fighting and becoming one of 3 female doctors in her graduating class. Mom called her on her days off and
they always talked for a few hours and
I know that Grandma really valued that time.

On my walk in this unrelated town, nothing seemed out of place, but I wasn't really there at all. The beggers begged and
the students drank and
studied and
the thugs thugged and
the cyclists cycled past me as I put my headphones in and
tried to disappear after saying goodbye to Mom because she had other calls to make.

And
Kim texted me wondering why Mom wasn't picking up and
I told her that she would be calling shortly and
I put my phone away and
walked on with my head down.

*

That Christmas season, we had no real family get-together for the first time, but I went with Mom and
3/4 of her siblings and
various other family members to Grandma's favourite restaurant that we went to together a few times and
everyone seemed genuinely happy and comfortable. And
I know they all missed her, of course, and
she was a doctor and
my Grandpa a surgeon, so they had a bunch of money to hand down to their children and
Grandma's family was the most important thing to her, so I think she would be happy knowing that everyone she loved and
that cared for her was a little more comfortable, was able to pay some student loans or a mortgage or a trip (which, also, she spent most of her life doing).

And
it seemed strange to me that on the day she died, nothing really changed, but as time moved on, she has continued to make all of our lives a little easier, a little brighter, a little less gloomy in the months that followed. And
this isn't an "Ode to Money," but rather an "Ode to my Mom's best friend" because all she ever wanted came true, directly
thanks to her.

fresh peaches in lined baskets, ordered
apples in individual grooves,
potatoes at three dollars for a one pound
bag. a mom pushes a wobbly cart as her
toddler reaches for
and grabs whatever is in front of her
Honey, no
but she doesn't get discouraged. An onion
floats into het hands while mom grabs and
bags green beans, and the toddler takes a
bite.
She launches the 7/8ths disgusting
as far as she can throw,
it crashes at the feet
of an older man with a walker. He looks
up, angry, then laughing
a skin crawling scream
fills the produce section, the mom
coddles her bundle of tears,
and they don't really subside
til she's home, snacking on apple slices
and watching tv while mom
puts away groceries and cooks
roast beef in a bed of garlic, onions, and
peaches, a family recipe

everything dies/ and some things are said/ to have lasted a century/ or more/ but how could that possibly be/ without variations/ changes in how things are done/or perceived/ how could a nation/ that once saw slavery/ as the norm/ elect a black president/ how could/ a nation that saw/ two centuries of change/ call themselves by the same name

everything dies/ and the world keeps/ crawling forward but we still insist/ that time does/ not evolve/or devolve/ what once was into something/else

Some days she comes home
sad, having ushered one of
her patients into the big sleep.
And she pours a drink, sometimes
telling us the medical side and
sometimes half asleep after the
first sip. And sometimes she
won't come home 'til 7 hours
after her shift, 'cause the evening
nurse didn't show and she has
paperwork to do (and management
has gone home, so she can relax
a bit), and we keep dinner
in the microwave cause even
saints gotta eat.
And her mom is becoming her
favorite patient, requiring
extra patience because my grandma
was a doctor. And she's now 92
with a failing heart and a mind
that can't quite hold on to what
it used to. And my mom is gonna
hold her hand, calmly carrying
another weakened, time-stricken
soul on her weight-thickened shoulders,
to the vacant hole that holds the
after. And she'll do it not 'cause
she has to, because all she's
ever done
                 is care.

embrace the bruises. embrace the aches that emanate from the surface of your skin. embrace the broken bones that come from the sum of your experience. embrace life's tattoos, the proof that you have used your time; the proof that you didn't just cruise through, unscathed and unafraid.
embrace the disease that coarses through your veins; embrace the pain that brought you here today.
if we were meant to end, heaven sent without a scrape, don't you think that scars would fade away at day's end?

An elderly woman signs forms
with a hand that is steadied with effort.

"It's terrible," she says,

pride turned to shame by time.

I wish I could steady
what shakes her, but
time claims all victims.
Strength today turns to,
like anything else, dust.

we were tired of the unknown,
tired of the mocking
deep blue, so we
peeled back the ocean
like an old band-aid on scarred skin,
just to see what sat beneath.
and we were
satisfied, our egos boosted,
because it was our ruins
cast across the ocean floor,
it was our waste
that the band-aid
was hiding.