Grandpa died on Friday
And I really did my best
My mom left home without me
And my dad was put to the test
My father is a woodworker
Like my grandfather before
And my uncle asked my daddy
To make the box for grandpa to soar
And so I went to my friend’s house
And had a really good time
I missed the mortuary
So I wouldn’t stand in line
I called upon my mother
who was busy as can be
Writing up the remembrances
and an obituary
I asked her to please come home
And do my pretty hair
I wanted my sweet Grandpapa to
Really know I cared.
But she said I’m sorry darling
I can’t come home tonight.
I am sleeping with your Grandma
Go to bed, turn out the lights
I went downstairs the best I could
It was actually time for meds
I could feel my hands shaking
But decided not to go to bed
Instead I stayed up fixing
And fixing my pretty hair
And nothing seemed to be working
As I thought of grandpa
A way up there.
In a mighty fit of frustration
I pulled out and then redid
Only to see in the morning
There were bald spots on my head
I picked my clothes out carefully
Something grandpa would care
A bright red shirt and blue jeans
And barrettes for my hair
I worked til’ almost morning
The sun was about to rise
I took my medication and
Closed my pretty eyes
I didn’t hear the alarm clock
Dad jumped me out of bed
We’re leaving in five minutes
Was all I heard he said.
I grabbed the red shirt I’d chosen
I jumped into my jeans
This wasn’t how I wanted it
I hate being me.
I wanted to look pretty
I wanted to do my best
Instead I went overmedicated
And looked a sorry mess
The red shirt I was wearing
Looked like a club night
And the jeans I jumped into
Were not at all right.
The medication was humming
As we pulled quickly away
And I could tell inside myself
It was going to be a terrible day.
I did my best to be happy
I forgot my morning meds
I wanted to show everyone
How hard I’d worked to be
My very best.
We missed the visitation
We almost missed the church
I missed the long progression
That headed with the hearse
I missed the soldiers shooting
I missed putting grandpa in his grave
I finally understood this was not a very good way
I wanted to hold my mother
Who was busy for her dad
I wanted to hug my family
Who seemed sometimes happy sometimes sad
I didn’t eat a breakfast, and I forgot a snack
I even forgot the medication that I usually pack
I called my dad to say sorry
I tried really hard to be nice
But it got really obvious
People were looking at me twice.
My Auntie told be about the rose
Thar laid upon the stone
And I went to say goodbye to grandpa
When I was alone.
I looked upon each stone I saw
Holding eagles, plaques and pain
Not one stone held the rose
I felt I was insane
I went back home to tell them
That it was no longer there
My Auntie said go back again
And look down and stare
The rose will have grandpa’s name
I really know you care
I watched my feet a walking
And the rose still had it’s stick
But the stone they had told me to find
Was actually a brick.
She’s 22, I overhead
She’s able to behave
She’s doing drugs another said
My grandpa in the grave
I ran away to grandpa who was watching way up high
And I marched around the little town trying not to cry
Lost and scared and empty
My Auntie took me in
And we journeyed to the jail house
To prove I didn’t sin
I looked into the mirror
At my face when I can home
And I soon discovered I was not alone
My mother saw the bare spots that covered over my head
And I went into the bedroom to get my pretty shirt of red.
I held it up before her and I looked into her eyes
And we finally held each other
And she finally cried
And I told her that I loved her
And I said it was too bad
And I told her I love daddy
Who is my real dad
And I told her not to worry
Because I knew something true
That Grandpa saw me for who I was
And that she did too
She showed me the spent chamber they shot for grandpa today
Grandpa knows I’m a good girl, was all that I could say.
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Wow!
~Z.B.McClure
Be always safe,
Karen
This is such a beautifully written but heartwrenching write. I followed all the way through the story, and could feel the pain the girl was going through. Marvelous write.
Mary
My son suffers from a TBI - and his grandpa died the year of his insult - this brings tears to my eyes. I know Jamie couldn't cry at his Pop's funeral and he wanted to, but post insult he doesn't cry. He wore one of his Pop's suits in honor to him. What a somber occasion.
Thank you very much for this - I'm not assuming you have a brain injury - if you do kudos to you! If not, then you know someone who does so equal kudos!
Again, Thank you, ~D.