Going Home: A Poem for Grandma

     I didn't have time to write a regular post this week.  So, instead I thought I'd share the poem I read at my Grandma's memorial.

Going Home

In your mind you were younger 

than your eighty-nine years and each day

the passage of time seemed to reverse 

and you were returning to a time when 

your mom was still the center of your universe.  

The lines between then and now had blurred

and the home you had lived in most of your

life, no longer felt like yours, but hers. 

A little more than a month ago,

you told me you had recently visited her house.

With a gleam in your eyes and amazement

in your tone, you exclaimed that you couldn’t 

believe it, but you had been to your mom’s house.

You said, “I should take you there sometime.”

I didn’t shake my head at this, didn’t say 

you must’ve been mistaken or that it just wasn’t 

possible, because for you, in that moment,

I wished it was.  Instead, I chose to believe, 

returned your smile and said I would love to see it.

In the coming weeks, I watched you drift in and out of sleep, 

sometimes lucid and other times lost.

I watched you become childlike, needing others for survival, 

yet I was still so amazed by your strength.  

One day, I heard you mumble “mama, mama,”

and I was struck by how much you sounded like 

my one year old son saying my name and I longed

for you to feel the comfort of your mama’s arms,

the way he can feel mine.

Now that you are gone, Grandma,

I imagine you’re in a familiar place. 

It’s nearing dusk and your mom is standing

on the porch calling you inside.  

You are young and rush toward the sound

of her voice, the chatter of your siblings 

getting louder as you approach.

As you are almost through the doorway

she pats you on the top of the head, 

says your name and as your feet hit that carpet,

the carpet that you had been remembering, 

it is now possible for you to be there

and you’re home.