Mommy Please

Goodbye Grandpa. I love you.

Mommy please
Tell me what makes you cry.
Is it the silly phone?
Did it poke you in the eye?

Mommy please
Tell me who's on the other side.
That person must be really mean
To make all those tears slide.

Mommy please
Won't you let me hold you tight?
I'll sit on your lap
And help you clear your sight.

Mommy please
Tell me why you still cry.
The phone is in it's cradle
But your eyes are far from dry.

Mommy please
Last time we saw him he was fine.
I don't believe you, Mommy.
Tell me Grandpa hasn't died.

Mommy please
Would you just hold me tight?
Let my tears run with yours.
Let a hug make all things right.

Grandpa please
Please tell Mommy you're alright.
She really needs you now.
Won't you comfort her tonight?

Grandpa please
Could you help her spirit fly?
She could really use a boost
Can't you do that once you've died?

Thank you, Grandpa, thank you.
For helping her tears dry.
Now we can both remember you
And also how to smile.

Really Mommy, please
Do I have to say goodbye?
He's still here; I know it.
He's watching from on high

Author's Note

My grandpa, my mom's dad, died when I was eight years old. One night, I walked into her office, and she was on the phone crying. She hung up and looked at me.
"Your grandpa died," she said. All I did was climb onto her lap and pray as we cried together.
I've always wanted to write something about that night, but I wasn't sure how or what exactly I was going to say, but I think I've done the memory justice.
Give me any comments or critiques you have. I'm open to any advice.