Documenting Moving Day, Thus Far

I should have taken a picture,
the camera has been in my purse,
this entire time we've had left.
I wish I'd documented it all,
before they started taking it apart,
hauling away the tangible memories
of all our childhoods, each well-spent.

Those who come to see Grandma now,
are hurrying through, for the final time,
unable to "really handle being here"
afraid of what happens when
she finally goes to sleep, saying
they want to remember her,
"like this," and that and the other times
they had been together
and some will never come,
or have not been here in years.

They keep taking bits and pieces,
shoulders burdened when they arrive,
arms loaded as they are leaving,
a picture from the wall,
a knick-knack or a paddy-whack,
a favorite afghan throw, a pillow,
sometimes money or jewelry,
whatever fits in pocket or purse,
or the pots, pans and spice rack,
she probably doesn’t need …. "now."

I wish I had taken a picture on Monday,
before the walls beyond her bedroom
became forever changed, emptied,
save an occasional nail head, cobwebs,
floating specks of dust marking each
removal, post-haste, before time disappears,
as they take the clock from the wall,
leaving those of us behind who remain
oblivious to the pending grief,
happy to have what is left,
beyond the empty spaces,
left by grieving too soon.

A joy is keeping us here,
to say goodbye and greet grief,
full in the face, perhaps in a whisper,
announcing "no vital signs palpable,"
or maybe, "we'll just know,"
as we begin to make the calls,
long distance, across miles,
linking all of us to the fact
that we loved her best, each of us,
in our own way, and our goodbyes, 
every last one, unique and special,
as she continues to move from this house
to live in our hearts forever and a time.

*********
i have no original artwork for this poem. i had to paint it with words instead, penned in the wee hours in my grandma's apartment nestled in a lovely area of this city, with no traffic sounds, very near an aldo leopold nature reserve. even so, whatever words i choose ... there is no way to capture the half of this ongoing process, so i hope my heart can hold it all.

update:  i appreciate these early comments and the sympathetic note, you are all taking.  i am also pleased that you are all relating, in your own memories. this keeps the heart going.  in the shortest terms, my grandmother is still here with us, being allowed to complete this process in her own home, since my daughter and i are able to stay here with here, with hospice help when needed, and family able to visit as often as they wish, etc.  in so doing, my daughter and i are having pretty exclusive "grandma time" that in the end will let our hearts keep.)