Untitled Poem

In the past year, my husband and I have lost a combined 4 grandparents:

My grandfather.

My Nana.

Hubby's Grandma.

And most recently, 

Hubby's Grandpa.

Hubby and I have been blessed to have known amazing grandparents.  Grandpa's funeral is tomorrow, and we are preparing ourselves for the service.  A few months ago, I wrote a poem about Grandpa.  He had just broken his hip, and was in the hospital.  We weren't sure if he would make it through surgery.  While he was at the hospital, his wife of over 60 years, Grandma, was back living at their condo with their 24-hour aide. She had terminal cancer, and had been on hospice for quite some time.  Her health was rapidly declining, as was his.  I was struck by their relationship, their current situation.  They'd lived most of their lives together, and now as time was winding down, there was the chance that they would potentially be apart for the rest of their days.


I'm not a poet by any means, but sometimes when I feel a strong emotion, the only way I can process it is through writing.  Grandpa was confused and alone at the hospital, away from his wife. He was still coming to terms with her finality and her cancer, let alone his lot.  I could not keep myself from trying to see the present world through Grandpa's eyes: why he acted the way he did, how he felt.  How does an 89 year old man feel when he is looking at the last days, weeks, months of his life?  Of his wife's life?  Of their life together?  


Writing this poem gave me insight and understanding.


I'd like to share this poem with you, in honor of Grandpa's funeral tomorrow.  The family decided they would like it read during the service, which humbled me.  I haven't shared much of my non-bloggy writing here.  And it's uncomfortable, like the dream where you are in class and realize you are naked: it makes you feel exposed. Writing is such a personal thing, particularly poetry. It gives a glimpse into one's heart, mind and soul.  


So, this is uncomfortable.  But I want to do it


Writers note: As I wrote this poem, I was listening to "Winter Song," sung by Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson. It gives you a feel for the tenor of the poem.  I love this song - a beautiful mixture of sadness and hope.

*****

Untitled Poem

Unfamiliar surroundings 
white walls, white sheets 

machines

beep beep blip beep beep blip

but not her.

My life my light my joy

years, so many years

so many birthdays christmases anniversaries

by my side

beautiful.

we had all the time in the world 

pot roasts on the table, flowers in the garden

children, grandchildren

our life.

we vowed to grow old together

and together we grew old

so many birthdays christmases anniversaries

warm memories, vibrant photographs of

our life together.

minutes became days became years

the aches became more frequent, the ailments more common

our hair grew white, our skin grew thin

but she never grew any less

beautiful

until one day all the time in the world became finite

her cancer

terminal

and the world suddenly seemed cold.

i became angry at everyone and everything

for both of us

because her heart was too pure to hate.

her body betraying her

slowly

shutting

down.

how impotent i felt

unable to take away her pain

and i became angry at God and at life

that after so many birthdays christmases anniversaries

this is how our story would end

hurting

slow.

but she never grew any less 

beautiful

falls, breaks, confusion, sleepless nights

medicine. so much medicine.

and she never complained

not once

because she was lovely, always lovely

together

until one day my own body betrayed me

and they took me away

to heal, they said. to make me better.

did they not know?

better could never be without 

her.

but here I am.

without her.

and i cannot remember...

had i breathed in her scent?

looked into her eyes?

stroked her paper skin?

told her i loved her?

one last time?

i cannot remember.

i look at my failing limbs

twigs on a rotting tree

and i am angry

at the injustice of it all.

out of a habit i have come to love,

i reach out my hand

searching, seeking.

but where i would find hers

there is nothing but empty bed space

and never have i felt more alone.

the tears are warm upon my face,

i find comfort in their presence.

I close my eyes and escape into my mind

and i keep her picture in my heart

until i can see her again

because i know 

that she will never grow any less 

beautiful

*****

In case you are wondering, Grandpa miraculously made it through hip surgery, and he got to spend Grandma's last few weeks with her in a nursing home, where they shared a room. 

Together.