(no subject)
Ten years ago today my grandmother passed away. She was 98, I had rushed her to the doctor, who had her ambulanced to the hopital, two days prior. Her body was just giving out - heart and kidney failure. I was with her when she drew her last breath. She had lived in my home for the last six years of her life (save the last four weeks when she was in an adult-care home after taking a fall). She had lived with my parents from before I was born. She had just always been there and was probably the person who influenced my life more than anyone else, including both my parents. I wrote this just after she passed away. Felt the need to share it today.
Memories of Nana
the jangle of bracelets, high heels, and brown bread,
so many memories are stored in my head:
soft boiled eggs, dipped with tidy toast fingers;
the scent of lavender that lingers and lingers.
the African violets that were fed with cold tea
and breakfast in bed: tea and toast, you and me.
cold winter schooldays made easier to bear,
by the warm smell of seedcake perfuming the air.
and layers of snow flakes melting on your fur coat,
a scent locked in my memory, like a lingering note.
your room held dog biscuits for Spotty to find,
and cookies for cat friends, the buttery kind.
sherry and biscuits and tea time at four,
and Cadbury's chocolate and pound cake and more;
strong Indian curries, and lamb with mint sauce,
the strong English accent that you never lost.
stories of India, of travel, and the war
pictures from Africa, and the England you adored.
lines from poems and songs that you’d learned,
you’d recite from your childhood and not miss a word.
and tales about Joey, the parrot that talked
who followed you to school & talked while you walked.
the Danny K movies; we’d laugh and we’d laugh,
though now when I watch them, they all seem pretty daft.
your strong love of nature, your worship of trees.
cloned on your canvas as they moved in the breeze.
but the strong smell of turpentine whenever you’d paint,
infiltrated the whole house, making all of us faint.
You’ll live in the paintings you shared with us all,
You’ll live in the moments we’ll frequently recall.
and no matter what happens, whatever might be,
I’ll treasure my memories of Nana and me.
Memories of Nana
the jangle of bracelets, high heels, and brown bread,
so many memories are stored in my head:
soft boiled eggs, dipped with tidy toast fingers;
the scent of lavender that lingers and lingers.
the African violets that were fed with cold tea
and breakfast in bed: tea and toast, you and me.
cold winter schooldays made easier to bear,
by the warm smell of seedcake perfuming the air.
and layers of snow flakes melting on your fur coat,
a scent locked in my memory, like a lingering note.
your room held dog biscuits for Spotty to find,
and cookies for cat friends, the buttery kind.
sherry and biscuits and tea time at four,
and Cadbury's chocolate and pound cake and more;
strong Indian curries, and lamb with mint sauce,
the strong English accent that you never lost.
stories of India, of travel, and the war
pictures from Africa, and the England you adored.
lines from poems and songs that you’d learned,
you’d recite from your childhood and not miss a word.
and tales about Joey, the parrot that talked
who followed you to school & talked while you walked.
the Danny K movies; we’d laugh and we’d laugh,
though now when I watch them, they all seem pretty daft.
your strong love of nature, your worship of trees.
cloned on your canvas as they moved in the breeze.
but the strong smell of turpentine whenever you’d paint,
infiltrated the whole house, making all of us faint.
You’ll live in the paintings you shared with us all,
You’ll live in the moments we’ll frequently recall.
and no matter what happens, whatever might be,
I’ll treasure my memories of Nana and me.