Grief by Payton Homer

Grief is a funny thing. We see it in movies, in our goodbyes. We see it at an airport, or when someone dies. I met her at a very young age. I was 5, grieving someone who was only 8. From then on I experienced it briefly, some may call it lucky. It was when I was a teen I experienced it more, seeing my friends go through it, my heart was sore. From grandparents to fathers to fellow classmates, grief became a part of me, this time it stayed. From 5 to 19 I have experienced much grief, only to know it happened to me. 8 months ago I saw you for the last time, and there we sat together. I was transported in time. My first funeral you were there too, and stood by our sides because we barely understood what you were going through. Then when I was 8 and we would bake cookies at your house. It had a certain smell, almost a taste I never got out. There was a beautiful attic full of old toys and games, that is where most of my memory with you remains. I can smell your perfume, feel the hair of your dog. I can see your big smile, and feel our last hug. When I put on a wig, I was transported. For I saw you in my reflection, and I was nowhere near disappointed. A small tear ran from my face, as I knew despite the grief a part of you will remain. 

I am grieving for my father as he has to say goodbye, for the woman who brought him into this world now has to fly. As I am writing this poem, the words fill my mind, of unlocked memory, like there’s been no time. The passing of one’s soul is terrifying and unbearable to face, but you were in so much pain, no time was a waste. Grief is a funny thing, for it’s a part of life. It makes us who we are today, despite the urge to fight. No one wants to see our loved ones fade, but the memories of you are just beginning to resurface, breaking away. I look at old photos and see why my father smiles, for you have fostered your beauty in the creases of mine. 

My dear Grams, how I wish this wasn’t goodbye, but my grief will be wrapped in one of your beautiful designs. I’ll go on to tell my children about the grandmother you were. Full of cookies and games and dresses, all made by her. You were a woman of faith with an occasional Diet Coke, who also always laughed at her most terrible jokes. My grief has now fostered into a sorrowful goodbye, but so much of me knows you’ll be up there dancing to your favorite, Patsy Cline. I am sorry to say I wish we had more time, but I’ll always see you in my father and my smile.

Your first son’s daughter, your granddaughter, the image of you,

-Payton