"Grammy"

And I still remember your soft hands
...the way they threw peanuts to the squirrels
and the way they would push me on the swing.
It’s the simple things that I remember.
The thick pile orange and yellow carpet in the living room.
The way the bath water would slip down the drain,
never staying in the tub long enough for a bath.
And the popsicles that always awaited a child’s hand
out in your garage freezer.
Some days I smell your perfume,
but I know you aren’t here.
I can’t tell if you still worry about me,
but if you do worry know that I noticed when you left.
I shattered with every thought I could see trapped in your brain.
Some days I sit and think about all the things we used to do together,
and I’m still trying to figure out if I’m trying to remember you,
or destroy the old memories,
because sometimes it hurts worse to remember
than to forget.
And whenever I see a plane in the sky I still say hi to Uncle Doug,
like you told me to do.
Even though, I know it’s not him.
I can’t tell if you still worry about me,
but if you do worry, know I’m doing well.
Know that I still remember the way your arm reached
to get me a tasty cake from the high cabinet.
And I still remember your raspberries in the backyard that never quite grew right.
And the hammock that you used to lie in with me and watch clouds.
I still remember the katydid nights,
the hummingbird mornings
and the chipmunk afternoons.
I still remember that you always kept a stash of cereal under your bedroom table.
And I still remember hiding there holding my breath
until I thought my lungs would collapse.
Then giggling, thus giving away my hiding spot.
I still remember the dress up suitcases and all of the crafts.
I can’t tell if you worry about me,
but if you do just know I still remember the way you loved me.

(H.J.R)

I began writing poetry when I was fifteen years old. At that time it was an outlet for the words that were ever always trapped in my brain. Through the years it has been harder for me to write, maybe lack of inspiration or lack of teenage angst, I'm not sure which.

This is a poem I wrote after my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. Though unable to visit her often, when I did I cherished the time we had together. I held her hand and tried to help her recall memories of our times together. I hoped with all my heart that something I said would spark and that she would remember. I looked for any sign of recognition in her eyes, but she just smiled and laughed. This poem is dedicated to her hugs and laughter, both of which will always remain with me.