mammaw
I still can’t wrap my head around,
Your frail hand,
Your weak breathing,
The fear in your eyes as the sun went down.
That wasn’t my mammaw.
Strong voices, surrounded by the smells and sounds of food made with love,
Laughing around the campfire at the lake.
I can still feel the suns heat on my neck,
Peeling potatoes with you on the front porch.
That was my mammaw.
I’m so sorry I was gone for so long.
That I missed you going from the strong woman,
The woman who raised eight children,
Dozens of grand children,
To a woman that:
Couldn’t remember her own name,
Couldn’t remember who she was,
That didn’t know my name at the end.
When I looked into your casket,
I wanted to say,
That’s not my mammaw,
It isn’t her,
I didn’t get to say goodbye.
But when they lowered you into the ground,
I had to admit, to myself, to the world,
That the woman in the casket,
Was my mammaw.
