which she wove as a girl, are -- decaying with her.
Collection "Between where"
Grandma is bored, she waits
for my wedding and perhaps she fantasises that I'm getting pregnant How would it have been with grandfather and her in bed? We don't talk about that just about the afternoons in the sun, gaining some colour for the summer She would have liked that, but at that time people thought differently Anyway, bikinis did not yet exist So much has changed, she reads it to me from the magazine and I laugh at her astonishment She is old, her hair as white as the walls in this sun, lovely Lu does not have to come yet
"Second Story Sunlight" (1960, Edward Hopper)
As I sit and searched my feelings, my thoughts are filled with you.
I think of all the memories created sending a flood of emotions through. You would always say when someone would leave it was their time, they had to go. And with those words you had to go but in years I needed more. You said to remember the things you taught, as you would not be here to ask. So I put on a face of certitude, a facade in the mode of a mask. As now, I must face the world without you, much more than one could ask. We assured you that your job on earth as a mother, protector, plus more was felt. That your guidance through our lives, was much bigger than just help. The love I feel when I say your name will always be the same As my grandchildren continue to grow, they will all know your name. I will share my fondest memories and tell them how this life I live you saved and how with little and such a big heart the bountifulness of love you gave. I will teach them as you taught me, how Fords were designed and made tough and I will always keep your loving memories as solace while times are rough.
My blog is at www.tcrossmd.com/Blog
Dear grandma, I remember you
and a few of your stories of the war, the little big dramas to commemorate my children only hear them half because of the bombardment of images of wars far away daily in the news so we play reality today to feel, to know how rending it is I am the grandma and my daughter is her mother, the street breaks after a shot, the air creaks and we hold our breath
Your hand shakes
lips quivering beginning to form a word. But the disease washes the 'you' away leaving me wondering, stuck, alone.
Your mouth struggles, mind grasping at sounds to make words.
Blurting out nonsensical madness. Your eyes scream out desperately. I wish I knew what to say To reach you.
a missed call notification lingers on my phone, taunting me in the small moments, reminding me of opportunities lost. A single minute voicemail replayed a hundred times. Your voice seeping into my marrow growing cold as it lingers. It's all I have left, all of you that remains. A notification, a reminder, a promise that just hours before it all, I was what occupied your mind.