Oma.
I love her.
I miss her.
I want her.

I want her back.

But I can’t have her back.
She’s gone, gone forever.
And all I can do
is
lie here in bed
and
cry for her.

I miss her.
I want her back.

Even when you were lost,
confused,
helpless,
hopeless.
I loved you.

Even when you
didn’t know who I was
when I was
I loved you.
Even when you
grew
so far away from me
I loved you.
I still love you.

I miss you.
I want you back.

When I was little you would knit for me,
socks and booties,
jackets and coats for my dolls.
I still have some of them,
but not all of them.
I’m losing my links to you.

I love you, and I want you back.

When Opa would come and go,
you were always there.
You would play with me,
put up with me
being me,
my little-kid’s
fleeting attention span.
When I did play with Opa
and grew tired of his
scientific mind
always improving things
you would put up with me,
my fleeting attention span,
until Opa was done,
and I could wreck what he did
to my heart’s delight.
Then you would help me clean up.

I miss you.
Why won’t you come back?

Even when I come in the summer,
I half-expect to find you there,
sometimes like a stranger in your own home,
wandering around, dazed in the confusion.
Of our arrival.
Soon you’re used
to us being there.
but however many times
we tell you our names
you never remember them.

It hurts Mommy, that you don’t remember her.

You’re always cold,
always wearing sweaters.
You always tell me
my hands are cold, too
and try to warm them up

I love you, but my hands aren’t that cold.

Opa’s overwhelmed, and Mommy too.
I try to help
but I don’t know what to do.
So I do what I can
and hope it’s enough.
I’ll never know how Opa
manages on his own
with you.

I want you back.
I want back the Oma I had
when I was four.
and you and Opa
could trade off
with Grammy
and Grampy
to help my parents
when they were overwhelmed
by their kids.
I want back the Oma
who knitted wardrobes for my dolls
who knew who she was
and what she was doing here.

My sisters never knew you
never knew your hugs,
your gentleness,
your fragility.
They never knew
how you would tease us
always knowing
exactly when
to stop.

Why could they
never know you
as you were?

I miss you.
I want you back.
Can you come back
to be with me
as I grow up?
Please?

why not?