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We met when I was too young to know what love means,
And how it could sting when we say goodbye -
The sweet, powdery fragrance that hung about you
And your home, mingling with the scratch of embroidered couch covers
And the jingle of Westminster chimes from the clock on the stairs
In the dead of night - your ghostly kiss against my cheek from rooms away.
You held my hand in your cool, soft, fragile one
And told me how much it mattered that I was your first grandchild,
How proud you were - and I could never believe
That I could matter so much to someone who had dozens
Of loved ones around her, a circle of loving, supportive smiles.
You went out of my life so slowly and quietly,
But I could feel the end come, and I fought to hold on,
Like a would-be rescuer at the edge of a cliff,
Clutching your slipping fingers until the end was certain.
Now the smiling relatives have come to tears
And me among them, wondering in the turmoil -
What between us truly matters?
Was it that I couldn't be there with you at the end?
Or the light in your eyes when you held my hand in yours?