She's GoneA Poem by Write4theSky
Previous Version This is a previous version of She's Gone. She’s Gone. Two words slip into the air with ease like seals sliding into opaque water, and it seems they are small talk. It’s a nice day, school went well, and she’s gone. My grandmother is dead. Why aren’t tears flowing down my cheeks? I stare out the window at a beautiful day, not sure what this lack of feeling means. Seven months passed between the day her illness was labeled and
my birth, satiating the balance of life and loss. My childhood memories center on the invisible fog that dazed her. “Who is this?” she asks. I am
introduced, and we discuss my hobbies and school. She is cordial and interested, but Never loving. Then I leave for
a minute and return to hear, “Who is this?” She’s gone, but she was never here In the week before her funeral, I maintain my normal life. When I remember those two words, laughter doesn’t fade from my voice as it maybe should. Every pew of the church is filled with people: many more than we anticipated. They praise her kindness and compassion, and mention her love for gardening. They share stories of her consistent grammar corrections. They describe her unfaltering perfectionism. Listening to the laughs and sniffles, numbness falls to bitterness. Why? Why did these people know and love her, when no memories were
reserved for her granddaughter? One gray seal leaves an untraceable road of red and shreds of
punctured gray hide. She will not return to the rock. But even as her abandoned pups howl, drowning in grief and bile, the inscrutable water clears. It forgets that a soul was dragged
away until denial is truth. Most people take for granted the loving advisor in their
childhood. I didn’t know what I was missing, and now she’s gone. What a woman- incapable of remembering how amazing and determined she
was for all but the last ten years of her life. I can’t blame her, but I do because she’s gone, and all I have is this infantile fear: did she feel
any loss when the she abandoned me to the illness? When your Grammy passes on, you sob and cry and scream that It isn’t fair, even as you realize the truth of your words. Then you don’t think about her every day. You stop denying that you’ve lost the exact smell of her perfume, Though the nursing home smell overpowered the lilac scent
anyway. Eventually You forget her, and you don’t cry when you find a reminder. Did I skip the grieving process, or was my cycle much longer? She’s gone; an unfaltering perfectionist who Lost control of life. How did she feel when she realized that one day she wouldn’t remember who the child in front of her was, and would never explain to that girl the difference between who and whom? © 2010 Write4theSkyAuthor's Note
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4 Reviews Added on January 16, 2010 Last Updated on January 27, 2010 Tags: loss Previous Versions Author
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