She is gone now,

Weeks have passed,

Shock is no more.

Resigned to the fact that we won’t see her again,

We won’t share coffee around the kitchen table,

Won’t share meals at the holidays,

Won’t see the warm smile,

Won’t see the pride in her eyes at our little accomplishments.

Grandmothers are someone taken for granted,

They were always there,

From our beginning,

Naively we think that they will never leave.

Still something deep in our hearts knows  its a lie,

We lie to ourselves because its easier than facing the truth.

The status quo easier to take than the pain,

But nothing can stay the same.

Parents become Grandparents,

Children, parents,

The eternal cycle repeats like a palindrome.

I don’t pretend to know what lay beyond this fragile life,

We pray to, hope for, obsess about an unseen God,

Holding steadfast to our faith,

Grasping with clenched fists to the fabric of what’s left of our existence,

Knowing that in time, we to, will meet our maker,

Whomever we conceive our maker to be.

In this, our soul finds consolation,

Finding peace in our belief in the unknowable,

Finding relief in the belief that this world is just the beginning,

That eternal life is not a myth,

But instead a promise of something greater,

Something greater than anything created in our mortal imaginations.

In this hope,

We find comfort.

In this hope,

We find peace.

As we pay our final respects,

In this hope,

You will not be forgotten.

Instead,

In this hope of heaven,

We say goodbye.