Memory

November 13, 2010
I remember the day,
I remember that day,
the day she died.
I didn't respond,
nor did I cry.

I'd known she was sick
for merely a day.
My father had left
to see her away.

The news met me
the morning of the next day.
“She drifted off, never awoke,”
is all they had to say.

I remember the way her smile
lit up the darkest of days,
and the one thing to me
that she would aways say.

“You are my Hero,
I love you so,
With all of my heart,
More than you could ever know.”

Sometimes I awake
and believe it was all a dream,
until I visit my grandpa
and see the tables full of her things.

Her house just isn't the same,
I doubt it ever will be.
I expect her welcoming voice
to be there to greet me.

Family gatherings,
special days,
without her there
they are none the same.

In my heart,
there's a gaping hole.
Some days
I feel so alone.

Her last words,
my grandpa and dad say,
were all about me
and the good ol' days.

The days we'd spend
alone at the beach,
discussing life
and other marvelous things.

Those days have gone, though,
her voice a mere memory,
though of course I'll never forget her,
and hopefully she remembers me.

It just makes me so mad,
the way people complain.
They're grandmothers are embarrassing?
So what if they're “lame”!

Don't take them for granted,
let them knit you that sweater.
Because if you don't,
you'll regret it later.

I'll never forget our love,
I will cherish it so,
And hopefully some day,
just once like long ago,
she'll once again hug me and call me her hero.





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