Grandpa

A poem written at the time of my grandfather's passing.

Grandpa,

When did you stop being you?

 

Was it

After you gave up your job,

Your career,

Your pride and joy in working?

 

I know how you loved it;

You would talk for hours about

Your time at Western Union, that telegraph company,

At the flower shop, Malmborg’s,

And how they brought you

So much joy,

So much life.

 

Was it

Once you entered the nursing home,

Leaving your house,

Your garden,

Your responsibilities

Behind?

 

I know how you lived to work;

Even in the nursing home,

You wanted to tend to their plants.

You desired to give of yourself,

It made you you.

 

Was it

When your mind began to leave you,

When your thoughts weren’t always true,

When you couldn’t tell

Fact from fiction.

 

I always adored your stories;

You told me of your time on a farm,

Being the son Raymond

A couple had lost.

There was so much beauty in your stories,

But they were no longer true.

 

Was it

At the point you stopped eating,

Stopped drinking,

Stopped speaking,

And waited to die?

 

You always feared this worse than death;

You were ready to die,

But you didn’t want to lose yourself,

You didn’t want to show weakness.

The broken you

I see before me

Was your worst fear.

 

Is it

Now,

When your heart stops,

When your breathing fades,

When this body fails?

 

Your image will always be etched in my mind.

I still see the creases of your smile,

I hear your gentle rebukes,

I smell the dirt on your clothes.

Even in your current state,

The face I’ve loved for so long

Is clear as day.

 

Step by step,

You lost everything.

 

Grandpa,

When did you stop being you?

 

Because I know I lost you somewhere along the way.

The man I love

Disappeared forever.

I’m just not sure when.