Gram El

Do not stand at my grave and weep;

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.

--Mary Elizabeth Frye

It's still not easy. 

I want to pick up the phone and hear your voice.

I want to tell you how the girls love it when, after their bath, I stand them, wrapped in a robe, atop the toilet seat and dry them off, just as you did for me at that age. 

I want to send you their drawings, and have you hear their adventures. 

I want you to call them "doll", and promise to send them fudge.  

I want to see their faces light up when they get a "Just Because Card" in the mail from you and see two or three dollars flutter to the ground when they open it. 

I want to hear you tell Mom and Dad to "be loving."

I want to say, "Broken-down," when you ask me how my broken-down brother is. 

I want to sit on your couch, nursing the smallest can of ginger-ale I've never seen anywhere else but in your house, and have you tell me to look away when the daytime soap stars start doing the "hanky-panky".

I want to make more memories with you. 

 

So, I choose to share my memories of you with others. And I celebrate your sunrise, instead of your sunset.  I love you so. 

 

Happy Birthday, Gram.