Poppop's Light

A Poem by Theresa

Poppop’s Light

Deep in my soft slumber,
in the comfort of my room,
tucked into my warm knitted blankets,
I lay in my bed.
                       Dreams
flow and drizzle through my mind
and I feel
                      safe
within my thoughts.
Thinking of successful
                      lacrosse
games,
                      music
that spoke to me,
art that expressed who I am.
My wishes become reality in
my dreams and they seem endless in
the moment.
                       Endless--
Until they are wrenched to a halt
by the bitter brightness of
                      light.
My eyes open, still blurred and
groggy,
to see my mother,
not
standing beside me,
but rather
walking away.
                    Without a word.
                     At 2:00am.
I say,
                     “Mom? What’s up? Is everything ok?”
Still deep in her slumber,
it seems,
dreaming of times past,
she drags her way back to
my room and pokes her head in.
                                                         “I’m turning Poppop’s light on.”
What?
My Poppop,
The man who always motivated
me to be an upstanding woman,
who always cheered me on,
who always shared his
knowledge with me,
a heroic man who fought to the
end for his country,
for his family,
for his life,
passed away exactly three weeks ago
to the day.
He is widely missed by all of those
who had known him, including
me,
but I try to see the
bright
side of this
tragedy.

                    “What did you say Mom?”
I ask again,
wondering if I had heard her wrong.
                    “I’m turning Poppop’s light on.”
There was no question.
That was what she said.
She turned my room dark blue once
again,
and then strolled back to the safety of
her own bed.

In the moment I hadn’t thought much
of it.
In that moment I barely hesitated
to even consider what she meant.
In that moment I hadn’t
understood
that she was still in so much
                     pain.
But, in a way, the saying
comforted
me.
He doesn’t have to
                     suffer
any longer.
He can finally
                    breath.
And now he breaths in the
                     sweet
air of
                   heaven.

My mother was still trying to keep
his light
                   going.
Still hanging on.
But I believe
that even though he isn’t
solidly
here,
he will never truly be
                                                         gone.
We see him in the
birds
as they watch over us,
in the late blooming
                                                         flowers,
in the light,
and in the night,
when the we feel him
soaring in the
stars.
It is certainly
                    comforting
to know that he is never
too
                    far away.
I am content knowing that he is
                    safe in
                    the clouds.
Content that I can
                    close my eyes
and find his arms entangled
with mine.
As we still sense his presence
and visit him in our
                                                                                dreams.