My Grandma died on Christmas Eve
A poem
My Grandma died on Christmas Eve
The phone is a pressure cooker, today
.
I know it’s coming
.
I rehearse lines;
“I’m sorry mum…..if there’s anything you need me to do…”
Then later I’ll hold my toddler son and tell him.
He won’t understand.
He’ll be too young to ever remember
The way you treasured his little ears
Said:
“Julie! This child is a precious gift!”
I will.
.
I know it’s coming
.
But until it does
I can pretend
That it’s a normal Christmas Eve
That you’ll say:
“I’ll just have one glass to be festive…..I can’t drink much these days”
Moan that chocolates don’t taste the same as they used to.
Say:
“Nothing’s the same as how it was. I’m glad I’m on the way out and not on the way in.”
Tell me how you used to get nuts and a satsuma.
But “that was enough”
I’ll remind you Grandad liked “The first Noel”
and you’ll start to sing it…….badly.
I’ll pretend I don’t like your singing
Even though secretly I do.
.
I know it’s coming……
.
And there it goes….
.
The phone.
.
A waiting wound that needs attention.
My heart climbs stairs
Stalling, not wanting to land
The news arrives in muffled, composed tones
“I’m sorry mum…….”
I don’t manage the rest.
“Well………we all knew it was coming.”
It seems wrong to share this for the first time too close to Christmas because of its bleak subject matter. So have it now.
The bottom photo I think is ‘93. That jumper she is wearing is so 1990’s isn’t it? Bless❤️
When I did tell my son later that day, it was quite comical really. We were in this cafe, I was holding him, cuddling, coming out with this big monologue like a soap opera. I looked and he had fallen asleep in my arms. Must have bored the poor kid. 😂 Always something funny to be found, even in dark times.
“Nothing’s the same as how it was. I’m glad I’m on the way out and not on the way in.”
That kind of epitomises how the older generation see the world, in a way they are preparing us for their departure by dropping subtle little cliches so when the time comes you will reflect on those words.