a trumpet playing taps—
my tears freeze
in the winter wind

grandpa’s truck
loud but sturdy
sitting in the driveway

summer children playing
hot and humid     rain
water fight

church on Sunday morning
choir singing loudly
piano softly playing

sand rushing
over my feet—
a river

a van stops…
small eyes look
a deer looks back

passing the cemetery
her grandson asks
where’s the road to heaven?

summer children playing
hot and humid     rain
water fight

My family recently had a loved one pass away. My grandmother died this summer and this was my three boys first exposure to death. This time was very hard on me and I wanted time to grieve by myself. I wanted to have time alone with my thoughts and I did not really think about how grandma’s death had impacted my kids. One day in the van we were running errands around town and we passed the cemetery, my oldest son asked, “Where is the road to heaven?” Before answering him directly I asked him, “Why do you want to know about the road?” He replied, “How did grandma know how to get to heaven?” While my throat immediately clenched up and I was trying to blink back tears I realized that I had not given my kids what they really needed. They needed to grieve with me and I had been selfish. I turned the van around and we went back home and sat on the living room rug. We pulled out photo albums, dolls, cards, and gifts that grandma had given us. We took turns telling stories about grandma, talking about things we did, and when we visited grandma in Texas. When we were finished we held hands and prayed for grandma and this really released a lot of feeling for me. I felt peaceful and calm when I looked up from prayer and looked at my boys sitting on the living room rug, an unexpected peace on a summer day.

living room rug
my boys telling stories
of grandma