A POEM ABOUT LOVE, LOSS AND FAMILY
A Poem
She was 95. No one was allowed into the room for those last moments of her life. We didn’t get to say goodbye.
95 years
And she has left us, the small lady has gone away.
She warned that this time would come, whispered she was tired, we clung to the hope she would revive
We waited patiently for some magic
Like a flower waiting for the slightest drop of rain, as if that’s all it would take for her glory to restore
The magic did not come
And now she is gone
She slipped out in the night, without a fuss, under the cloak of darkness
She always did look good in a cloak
And her departure has left a hole, how can that be filled?
You can stuff it full of things but those are just that, things, and it doesn’t help to ease this feeling
Emptiness.
There is no magic to replace hers, 95 years of vision, adventure, mischief, individuality; 95 years of enchantment and charisma
95 years.
The small lady could command the room, light it up. I still hear her laughter, feel the joy she brought, her warmth, her stories
I can see her wild, vivid in all her colours
And her smile
She would make friends with everyone. Giggling with the man on the train, reliving her youth, quizzing him on the area where she once lived
Her stubborn defence of the upside-down wallpaper in her kitchen, bizarre experimental cooking, her love for animals and nature
She would talk for hours about her birds in the garden, she would write to me sometimes. Who will look at her birds now? Who will study them and love them unconditionally, an extension of her family?
No one. There is a void, a numbness
Because she slipped out quietly in the night, without a fuss
And we didn’t get to say goodbye.
Goodbye Grandma you will be so missed. Please give Grandpa and Auntie Hilary a big squeeze from us all down here.
