One Year, Eight Months, One week, and Two Days

About my grandmother...

I can’t bring myself to say those words

I can’t hardly move my fingers to write these words

Those wounds aren’t healed, not by far

I feel like my soul isn’t quite on par,

As though somehow, a part of it is gone

Never to be seen again

I try so hard to put into words what I’m feeling

Pain, yeah

Lost, of course

Melancholy, beyond it

Like a piece of my soul was torn from me, the understatement of eternity

 

Still, none is this seems to be the right way to put how I feel.

I’ve tried so many times, and it’s been one year, eight months, one week, and two days

since I got that phone call.

This whole thing is pointless, a waste of time

It has to be, when I can’t even spit out the right things to say

Nothing is right, not a single word in the dictionary could suffice for what I feel

Or have been feeling this whole time

For that matter, I don’t even feel like the same person anymore.

 

I can’t look at pictures

With you by my side, with everything I did

Watching over me, like my personal guardian angel

With your wrinkled face, kind hands, and graying, pepper hair

I would know those glasses of yours if I saw them one-hundred years from now

I lost you way before I lost you again

I don’t know what happened, I don’t know what to make of anything

Then they told me – cancer

For too many years, I had to hear about and watch you suffering

I cried myself to sleep too many nights

I hurt myself so many times, feeling so guilty and worthless

I starved myself, for some reason I thought being thin enough would save me,

it would make up for losing you

 

I swear it’s my fault, I should’ve never left in the first place

If I had been there, maybe you would have been happier

Maybe you wouldn’t have suffered so much

But I let you down in so many ways

Not just that, but too much more.

 

I should have appreciated you more and talked back to you less

I should have gotten mad at you less and loved you more

‘Everything is twenty-twenty in hindsight’

I don’t care if it’s true or not

I wish, how I wish so badly! that it weren’t.

 

There’s too much for me to say and not know how to say it.

 

 

Author's Note

This may be crap for writing, I don't really want to reread it, but harsh criticism is still welcome. The actual subject of talking about her is still a bit troublesome, but I had to attempt to get it out some way.

Reviews

[Taylor H]

this was really good, in fact it made me cry a little bit. i had a best friend die a little over a year ago and this is pretty close to how i feel as well. this is an amazing poem and im so sorry for your lose.