Grandmother Christine

If I could take those words back and trade them in do you think I could do it?

Do you think I would have rode in the car with the women that had the short red hair?

Where are you now that I need you?

Are you in heven with grandda?

Are you sleeping on a pillow made up of clouds?

Of course you could end up in hell.

But I won't think of you like that. And neither will big brother.

My heart aches with your absence and I can her your old voice cracking as you sing my lulaby.

I feel your cool touch as you caress my cheek to check for the feaver.

I smell your husky sent of sandalwood and clover.

I feel you brushing back my blonde hair with the silver brush that you pulled through your own black mane.

I feel you slipping through my fingers and I see you last on the small couch curled up with me as a small child.

I cry out, you look up and smile with tears in your eyes and I hear you say those last words I will ever hear fall from your lips "I love you sweetheart. Goodbye."

And then I wake.





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