When I was a child, you were all about the scolding,
except when you were about being my defender.
When I grew a bit, you were about the questions and the worry.
You were the unfair holder of the front door key.
You sat in the orange chair like the queen of our kitchen.
You sat, or cooked, whistling songs you would forget.
I spent so many days in your care, because you did.
I was never forgotten by your eyes, or by your prayers.
I grew and made choices, and then the lines around your eyes softened,
and your questions stayed silent with you.
Each day I grew and learned, made safe by your pleading in heaven.
I was never forgotten by your heart.
My children came and you exploded inside with gratitude.
You always knew that I was so special, and now, so were they.
You were my twin, decades apart.
You were the loving, warm blanket of my life.
Every holiday and birthday saw you silent in the corner.
Now the queen of the burgundy throne.
You watched and waited for the moment of exhaling,
when we all were safely tucked in God’s swirling plan.
You saw what no one could and then asked for blessings,
only for others.
Now I see you there, holding God’s hand and seeing the architecture
of that which you have built with each whisper in the night.
God is holding all of us, together.
Sleep now, queen. You are home.
This poem was written for the memorial of my only living Grandmother, who died on October 27, 2010.
May she rest in peace forever.