You always told me, “One day…”
Trying in vain to prepare me for these days.
In the early days, I notice your hat is still there – I make a mental note to ask if I can keep it,
But then in the blink of an eye – it is gone.
I take your collection of ties without waiting for a better time,
Folding them up neatly in a bag.
I think of the sadness in your eyes whenever you spoke of a family who was long since gone,
Always preparing me for, “One day…”
I never expected ‘one day’ would feel like this,
Never imagined I would understand so accurately that sadness I saw within you.
Weeks later, we are standing outside our house,
We are all here, waiting.
Liz announces the arrival of the hearse with a deafening, “He’s here.”
Nic and I lose composure, eyes dropping immediately to our feet.
I sit in the funeral car, with your daughters – the magnitude of that moment hits hard,
I am the only grandchild in the car and I wonder, does that not speak volumes?
The house is empty,
I am showing prospective buyers around.
They want to change everything – strip it bare and start anew,
I want to drag them out but instead, I just remove myself.
“One day, I won’t be here anymore. You’ll be telling your grandchildren about me like I am telling you about mine.”