English Blog : Narrative

My Bitter-sweet Sixteen

“Fear not nor grieve at my departure

You whom I have loved so much

For my roots and yours are forever intertwined

I leave my thoughts, my laughter, my dreams

To you whom I have treasured

Beyond gold and precious gems

I give you what no thief can steal,

The memories of our times together:

The tender, love-filled moments

The successes we have shared;

The hard times that have brought us closer together

And the roads we have walked side by side

I also leave you a solemn promise

That after I am home in the bosom of God,

I will still be present,

Wherever and whenever you call”

The lump in my throat grows larger as I stumble to get the last few words out. My eyes surprisingly void of tears as I leave to return to my seat. I had just experienced one of the hardest, yet most humbling things I had done in my short 16 years. To be asked to read a poem at the funeral of my great-grandmother was a daunting task. Sure I had neither written the poem, nor was I asked to speak after I concluded it, but still how was I to fit all that she had meant to me in a mere 70 words?

As I sit down, the preacher gets up to say a few words. Sitting next to her daughter, my Grandmother, it is hard to focus. “We have come today not to mourn the loss of Constance, but to celebrate her life…” begins the speaker, but her words are lost on me.

Suddenly I am no longer sitting in the bottom of the house that had been turned into a funeral home, surrounded by others whose lives had been impacted by the frail 90 pound woman, looking as though she will wake up at any moment and go work in the yard, pulling weeds. Rather I am coming up a hill, sneaking through a plowed cornfield with my sister, running to try to surprise a grandmother who we knew would have cookies galore and stories to capture us for days.

After listening to her stories we would walk out amongst the cornfields again looking for arrowheads, an attempt to recapture the past. Once that loses its glamour my 9 year old self runs towards the large crooked tree right in the front of the little wood cabin, hand built by my great-grandfather. The tree has a cranny the perfect height for two little girls who want an adventure while knowing that grandma will fix any scratches or boo-boos that may happen.

Snapping back to the present I realize that the funeral is almost over and it is about time to pay final respects. I sit quietly in my row waiting for the others before me to finish their goodbyes. There aren't many there, just family. After-all an 83 year old country girl living in the middle of nowhere, doesn't get as many visitors as most. The clock continues to tick by slowly, yet somehow faster than I would ever imagine possible.

Finally I take my turn to walk up the aisle towards the front. It’s a slow walk, one that an individual takes when they are beyond the thinking, beyond the grief, to the point when they are numb. I am numb. Exactly one week ago was the last time I had seen her alive, and I am not prepared to say my goodbyes.

Looking very much like a sleeping heroine lying on a bed of embroidered pink roses, dressed in the purest of whites and clutching her confident since childhood, lays my grandmother. In a few hours this image of purity and innocence will be laid to rest forever, leaving behind loved ones clinging to fleeting memories of times past.

Standing there, reflecting on the summers spent with her, a deeper truth begins to dawn on me. Not only will the savior of my childhood be buried that afternoon, but my very childhood itself will be her companion. The day she passed was the day I turned 16. Every young girl dreams of her Sweet 16, and needless to say mine was less than ideal. What I had once perceived as a day to look forward to, has been changed forever. My childhood will never be recaptured other than through photographs and blurry memories, just as the symbol of everything good that happened when I was younger was now forever gone.

As I lean down to whisper one last “I love you,” I feel as though the kind selfless woman who would give to others without a second thought has given me one last gift. She has given me a day. A day to reflect about her, a day where no matter what I will always be able to smile and remember the joy that she brought, when joy was unattainable. She has left me her memory.

Poem by Edward Hayes, Prayers for a Planetary Pilgrim