My beloved grandmother died of cancer on Nov. 16. We buried her yesterday. (Arlington National Cemetery — they keep their own schedule.) She was a mother of five, a Navy wife, a world traveler, an antiques dealer, an expert stock trader (paper only, thankyouverymuch), and an overall damn smart lady. Whenever I called, we’d talk politics and current events. In our last conversation, she couldn’t get over all the fascinating things she was learning about her tests and treatments.
She was also a writer. When I was born, she wrote me a poem — her first granddaughter. My uncle, in high school at the time, illustrated it. It has hung in every room I’ve lived in. I wanted to read it at her funeral, but that is not the way military funerals roll, in my experience. So I will share it here.
There is a place where each of us stays
Separate.
It is most holy ground.
When one draws near, we tremble, because it is
Inviolate.
And yet love spreads her banquet here,
Timidly,
For just one guest
And waits, sometimes forever,
Quietly.
Her patience is, like nature,
Elemental.
She does not feed on hope.
But waits in loneliness, withdrawn
And gentle.
–Patricia Waller, December 1978
Rest in peace, Grandma. Thank you for everything.
grandmothers are the best things. I miss mine, and her poetry, daily.
That’s an awesome poem, thanks.
That’s really a beautiful poem. Thanks for sharing it.