Remember me your grandson?
No you don’t. Visiting you often in the home,
Hollowed stranger eyes staring at me,
Unseeing my love and tears,
Wishing you would remember us…
Dementia, such an ugly evil enemy,
You have stolen Grandma,
Knowing she won’t come back.
Why do some leave softly in the night,
While others with a loud crash bang,
And the unlucky ones, have their lives and memories,
Stripped away piece by piece,
Until the once dignified matriarchal Mother of our family line,
Is no longer recognizable as she,
Even though she sits right in front of me.
Grandma, I don’t visit you often because it hurts,
I want to remember you THE WAY YOU WERE.
Back in the day, you held me as a baby,
Clothed me, cleaned me, and fed me,
Sang songs to me…I remember.
The anticipation to visit your place,
With those authentic Shanghai cooking smells,
From your one of a kind dishes…I remember.
Your big laughter and larger than life personality,
That would direct traffic at any family gathering,
Holding my parents, uncles and aunties, cousins,
nephews, and family friends enthralled,
with your stories…I remember.
You were so healthy and strong in your seventies,
Stubbornly shooing away any help from us…I respected that.
Than in your eighties,
You developed that limp after the fall,
And you let me hold your arm.
When we walked together,
You would bear your weight against mine.
You were starting to lean on me…
When you entered your nineties,
With your hair bright as newly fallen snow,
You were slowing down, we saw you less…
And then the stroke happened.
Since then you’ve slowly left us,
Which has been hard.
It really doesn’t matter anymore,
This is how life cycles,
And how we pass things on from generation to the next.
Memories, stories, key moments, good times.
Thanks Grandma for who you were,
And all that you gave me.
I’ll miss you…even though you’re still here.
~ Jason Chu
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.