When she died, I felt a sense of happiness.
Not happy that she was gone, for I was profoundly sad,
More like her happiness moved through me.
It lit me up, for days afterward.
I thought about all of our time together.
How much we laughed together.
How much I loved the simple moments with her.
So many things I do because she did them.
And I didn’t even know it at the time.
The night before she died. I stayed over.
I got to hold her hand in my own.
I felt her skin, her warmth, her smell.
I want to feel her warmth again, but only in my memory bank, can I experience
The sense of her I long for.
She didn’t have daughters, and she and dad were close, especially when he was younger.
When I spent time with her, I felt connected in a daughter way, in a way that maybe she was mothering me in the style she would mother a little girl.
I have your barrettes, Grandma, the ones you sent me.
I’ll keep them always, I’ll wear them proudly, I’ll think of you.
Musings and Flow 