She shuffles down the hall
In bedroom slippers now;
Short, quick steps,
Her youthful buoyancy gurgling
Like a laughing brook
Under a surface of rice-paper skin,
Nicked and bruised
Since the simplest breeze brings injury.

Her soul sees enough, but
Her eyes strain to look into me
Clouded by the years and process
Of elongated nights spent tossing,
Praying.
She misses being able to read.

Her television blares her Braves
As she struggles to catch the score.
She calls out the Jeopardy questions
With confident expertise.
She talks to herself about me
When I’m sitting right there.
She misses having someone to talk to.

She dreams of Grandpa every night
Sweet, silly dreams about going out to dinner
At their favorite restaurant,
Laughing over daily trivialities.
She tells him about her elderly aches;
He pats her hand.
In her dreams Grandpa stays with her
To help her, love her
Through the shuffle-days.
She misses their laughter-dance.

I love her with my whole life,
Perishing but for her presence and gifts.
I will always treasure her life and grace.
When the time comes,
I will let her go
With her dignity intact,
And I will never forget these days,
These shuffle-days,
Elegant, beautiful and wise in her final gait.

10/07/2004

Author's Note: My grandmother rescued me from my mother's neglect when I was nine months old. She and my grandfather, along with my aunts and uncle, read to me, took me everywhere with them, taught me how to laugh and how to crawl. Under her careful guidance, they all loved me up. Without her, I likely would have been permanently disabled. In her elder years, I am priveledged to care for her - to give something back of the blessings she has bestowed upon me.

Posted on 10/07/2004
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