On The Day My Grandfather Died

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    • nita66
    • is currently finishing her book of poetry. I am aspiring to become more knowledgeable in the various types of poetry and to receive some financial gain from my writing endeavors. I welcome fellow poets feedback.

    On The Day My Grandfather Died

     

    On The Day My Grandfather Died

    By LaNita Cannada-Hickman

     

     

    On the day my grandfather died

    the sun shown bright

    and it was cold outside

    Christmas lights were up

    and Nativity scenes decorated

    a couple of front lawns

    the joy of the season

    was in the air

     

    Still I went to work

    trying to fulfill

    financial obligations

    personal goals

    interacting and smiling

    as if I was okay

    all the while trying

    to grasp some degree

    of normalcy in my life

    when outside the domain

    of my inner circle of

    associates and friends

    I and my family

    were in a trance like state

    from the unexpected

    circumstances of my

    grandfather’s impending fate

     

    In my head

    I tried selfishly

    to think of a prayer

    to ask god

    to let him stay

    but I was not aware

    that on this day

    god already had

    something greater

    in store for him

     

     

     

     

    On the day my grandfather died

    my mundane and monotonous

    day at work

    got interrupted

    and my mother and aunt

    came to call

    there was an emergency

    at the hospital they said

    afraid I nervously

    got up from my desk and left

    with them for our

    long ride of dread

     

    In the car

    I stared at nothing

    we all rode in silence

    my mother and aunt

    chained smoked

    each in their own thoughts

    as we arrived

    my dad met us

    I don’t remember

    how my sister got there

    I do remember the air

    heavy as if I was

    suffocating too 

    I was holding my breath

    without realizing it

     

    We entered the hospital

    corridors together

    each of us making

    small talk

    one of us

    ask the hospital

    attendant for directions

    to my grandfather’s room

    detached I floated to his

    doorway

    to my surprise

    there sat my grandfather

    on the edge

    of his bed

    eating persimmons

    that my dad’s sister

    brought from California

    in his room we all gathered

    and watched, as my grandfather ate

    he was having a picnic

    reminiscent of his childhood delights

     

    I smiled at him

    I was happy to see

    him eating again

    he was not dying

    and things weren’t

    that serious as we

    all had imagined

    this thing could not be

    “Lung Cancer”

    perhaps the doctors

    were wrong

    we all were excited

    and talked about a

    whole lot of nothing

    together

    we were all trying to

    make my grandfather

    comfortable and

    he talked to us all

    while eating his fruit

    eventually

    my dad left the room

    to get coffee or to think

    he did not come back

    for a while

    my mother and sister

    went for a snack or a smoke

    break or something

    my aunt went to the

    nurse’s station to talk

    to the doctor

     

    We both are left alone

    my grandfather and me

    with a gentle hum in the room

    from some hospital machinery

    I looked at my grandfather

    who seemed pretty relaxed

    as he leaned back on the pillow

    and asked him

    “Is there anything I can do for you?”

    He replied, “Give me longevity”.

    He smiled a tired smile.

    And my reply sadly was,

    “Grandpa you know I can’t give you that.”

    then we both were silent

    A minute, an eternity

     

    Soon after, one by one they all would

    return to my grandfather’s room

    each to their respective posts

    their private thoughts occupy

    them briefly

    my grandfather tries to talk

    a little, then he must rest

    visiting hours were coming

    to a close

    we all gathered our things

    each of us kissed my grandfather

    his cheeks brown and withered

    were incased by an oxygen mask

    he tries to smile

    we tell him

    we will be back

    first thing in the morning

    and we all took our time

    leaving his room

    saying our goodbyes

    Our last goodbye

     

    Once outside of the hospital

    rushing to leave

    to go home and take off our

    clothes

    shed our problems

    rushing to eat, or smoke

    or grab a cold one

    We all felt the chill of the night air

    in the moments that followed as we left

    his life would end

    shortly after our departure

    before we even made it home

    the world continued to turn on it’s axis

    life continued to go on

    and I cried

    All this happened

    On the day my grandfather died

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    Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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