It didn’t matter what she did
Anything for her kids
it’s not the things that she conveys
But what she did in her living days
Seventy-Five Years of mankind
I watched her wither away and die
Strong-willed to the last
She is now part of the past
In my heart and in my mind
Now it seems so hard to find
Never thought it would be like this
I remember holding her weak fist
Now she is gone
what went wrong
All the years that were fun
Just remember what she’s done
Lying there in her grave
I’m thinking about the love she gave
On this day, April 9, 1993, A very special person was removed from the universe that I understood for the first 19 years of my life.
I pretty sure this was my first experience of grief and loss but it was the most significant.
My Grandma was an important piece of my younger years. I moved back to Fresno, where she lived, when I was 8 years old. That is when the bond started to grow.
I had a younger brother and two cousins and we all stayed at grandma’s house all the time. Like a lot of families in those days, my mom was a single mom and had to work to provide for me and my brother. We get ready for school in the morning at Grandma’s house. She would fix us Cream of wheat or bread and gravy. After school, we would walk back to Grandma’s and stay until mom was done working.
There are so many memories I can write about, learning to drive her Cadillac when I was 14 or those times all of us cousins would have BeBe gun wars or the times she would chase us with branches of the tree to spank us
One thing I always new… My Grandma loved me. I wrote the poem above and read it at her Funeral. It was one of the hardest things to do.