Why’d it happen?
Why’d it happen so suddenly?
Why’d it seem like everything was fine?
Why’d it seem like you were gonna be okay?
Why’d it change so quickly?
Why’d it decide your time had come?
Why’d it decide it was time for you to go?
Why’d it not let you say goodbye to me?
Why’d it think you were supposed to leave?
Why’d it think you couldn’t write anymore?
Why’d it think you couldn’t cut paper hearts?
Why’d it think you couldn’t leave that room?
Why’d it make them think you had pneumonia?
Why’d it make you leave this world last week?
Why’d it decide you had to go so far away?
Why’d it make you leave without another word?
Why’d it make me excited for a letter I won’t get?
Why’d it make me think I would hear from you?
Why’d it make me think that you were okay?
Why’d it make me feel like you could get better?
Why’d it make me hope you would come back?
Why’d it make me wish you would be cured?
Why’d it make me see only the good in this?
Why’d it make me think you wouldn’t like this?
Why’d it give me this pressure in my chest bone?
Why’d it make me have to write all this out?
Why’d it think a poem would help me heal?
Why’d it think that grieving had to be like this?
Why’d it make me unable to shed a tear for you?
Why’d it make me have to ask these questions?
Why’d it take you away from me like this?
Why?
Why will I never have answers to my questions?
Why can I never see you in person again?
Why do I have to watch a video to hear you talk?
Why do I need pictures now to see your face?
Why do I feel sad when I hear Cher songs?
Why did we share that kind of connection?
Why couldn’t you just stay a while longer?
Why couldn’t you leave to get help sooner?
Why did you think nothing was wrong?
Why did you have to be forced to move away?
Why did you always see the good in everything?
Why did you always let me mess up your hair?
Why were you so patient and understanding?
Why did you watch YouTube videos with me?
Why did you agree to be in a video with me?
Why did you think everything I did was fun?
Why did I think everything we did was fun?
Why did I think messing with your hair was fun?
Why am I acting like I don’t know anything?
Why am I questioning why you did those things?
I know you loved watching videos with me.
I know you loved hearing me laugh all the time.
I know that you had gel that made your hair fun.
I know you enjoyed spending time with me.
I know you loved bringing a tote full of gifts.
I know you didn’t want to retire when you did.
I know you enjoyed your job and wanted to stay.
I know that life was very hard for you.
I know that you always put everyone before you.
I know you moved away because you had to.
I know you enjoyed writing letters with me.
I know you loved making those paper hearts.
I know you loved being my Grammie.
I know I loved having you be my Grammie.
I know I only had you in my life for 22 years.
I know my Dad & Uncle now have no parents.
I know you missed Grampie and Casey a lot.
I know Casey was an amazing & sweet dog.
I know Grampie was funny and your love.
I know you missed Casey, then lost Grampie.
I know you’ve missed other people for a while.
I know you fought for those last moments.
I know you thought you would be okay.
I know that you accepted it when it was time.
I know you weren’t in any pain when you left.
I just wish you didn’t have to die to feel at peace.
I just wish you didn’t have to disappear forever.
I just wish I had known that last letter was it.
I wish I had been able to say a real goodbye.
I don’t know what to do with all the letters now.
I don’t know how to move on with you leaving.
I don’t know why I don’t feel like crying.
I don’t know if it’s because emotions are hard.
I don’t know if it’s because Autism is hard.
I just know that I’m happy you’re happy now.
I’m happy you don’t need that tub anymore.
I’m happy you don’t need to worry anymore.
I’m happy I don’t need to worry anymore.
I’m happy that you’re with the people you love.
I’m happy that you are definitely up in the sky.
I’m happy that you’re an angel looking down.
I’m not be religious or like angels, but I love you.
I know that there is more to life than this one.
I know that this isn’t the only life we have.
I know that people are reborn all the time.
I know that we either do it quick, or wait.
I hope you don’t decide to wait for us.
I hope you go right to your new life.
I hope you get to come back however you want.
I hope you’re happy wherever you are now.
I hope I can someday listen to Cher happily.
I can listen now, but she reminds me of you.
I always said that she kinda looks like you.
I can’t thank you enough for making me a fan.
I can’t thank you enough for being here for me.
I hope you know that your love was felt by me.
I’m sorry that I couldn’t write to you more.
I’m just happy you still kept writing to me.
I want you to know that I read every letter.
I kept every single heart that you made for me.
I love how you started to make the envelopes.
I will keep you with me for the rest of my life.
I will never forget you.
I will love you forever and ever.
I will always be your “Sweetie”.
I love you, Grammie.
Goodbye.

Always see the world through rose-colored glasses and
The classy lady always orders the cosmopolitan
I’ve always preferred Miller light
But I’ll raise my Cosmo up in a salute to him
Always hide your Butterfinger wrappers in the fire—
“That’s where Grammie won’t find them”
A man of his stature, success
Shouldn’t have to keep such secrets from his Babe
We know she’s only looking out for him
But nothing will keep him from the simple pleasures life has to offer
Not even his Babe

When we were young he told us
Of the Fuckawee Indian tribe that settled Northern Michigan
And how, maybe, just maybe
If we yelled loud enough
They would peek out at us from behind the thick foliage
After dinner he’d take us kids on his evening cocktail cruise
(Once again hiding from Babe)
With a Gerrity mixed drink in his hand
(He wasn’t allowed ice cream, or ***** and Kahlua)
We’d cruise by the house and call out
To the tribe that settled our sacred land and
To our shocked parents on the distant shore line
“Where the Fuckawee?”

How to drive a boat and How to touch the world and
How to love unconditionally and How to enjoy every moment
How to stand up for what you believe and How to have fun doing it
How to follow the rules, and more importantly How to break them
Looking up and down the rows and rows of
White folding chairs
Watching these salty lessons dribble down the faces of those he touched
The young, the old
The Brazilian, the English who always asked for the Irishman's list
The family, the friends, and those who admired from a far
We come together, here
To celebrate all we learned from him
How to work to the top from the bottom
How to touch the lives of so many
and

Most importantly,
How to fill your heart with love for
The Luckiest Family in the World
That I have around me now,
Thanks to the Luckiest Man in the World

I wrote you a folk song, sister.
Think I’ll call it “Caroline,”
after your mama’s mama
and the way she’d
slow smoke a brisket
for fifteen hours,
slapping away at the jaw harp
and kicking chickens.
Man, she had heart.

Nate and I still swing down by Early’s mill
on these summer days away from work,
and hack our way through the rushes
with that Congolese machete
Daddy gave me for my tenth birthday
(the fringes remain intact).
Nate ran into trouble,
and is back in town
for a while.

I’d say it’s about time
we rosin up the horsehair
and saw away at some old gospel staples,
the same way we did
at the fiddle contests
two lifetimes ago,
when the mountain tunes lingered
in the morning mist
far beyond breakfast.

Back when the AT through hikers
crashed at our place and brought stories of the Great Trail.

Back when my daddy wore bellbottomed jeans
and could scale a rock like some sort of deity.

Back when Nate smashed Grammie’s mason jar
of flour all over the road
and got a good whoopin’.

Back when we’d dam up the creek
and dream up images for the trees.

Back when your mama’s mama
prayed to Jesus on our behalf,
and the stars still came out most nights.
Her redwood rosary still dangles
on the mirror by my Hank Williams shrine.

Yes, I wrote you a tune from the heart, sister,
where the memory wells
flow with water from a living rock.

I hope you like it.