The loss of my Grandmother

Turning the silver crank, I watch my grandmother sink into the shining casket.
They fold in her blanket and lower the lid.
I watch them push the lid,
Open it,
Adjust her body,
and reapply force.
I'll be carrying that casket in a few minutes.
I have no worries about the weight:
It won't be much more than the weight of the casket.


Where has she gone
The woman who couldn't have a friend over without a deck of cards.
Who loved gambling
A penny a point
or
A trip to the casino.
Only the dealer is wild
And she was a wild one
Full of life.


Until Parkinson's hit
Then...


She became scared,
Left her home,
I won more card games than I lost
She saw the water and the spiders spitting their disease.
She was found on the floor
Christmas Evening
Trading turkey for physical therapy


The promise of home if only she would get "better"


She pushed herself through the pain to end in a nursing home.
On her deathbed she whispered the hope of returning home.
Withered, Dry, and Dying with only one request:
To Go Home!


It's hard to think of her at home when my hand wraps around her cold wrist,
Or as I lift her permanent home by the cold chrome


She wrote a letter that expressed her belief that she was joining my grandpa.
All I can see is her joining him in a house of dirt and worms,
Locked away,
Dropped down,
Sealed in,
Covered.


She'll be missed,
but is she mist?
Is she somewhere
Living
And Loving
Or
Lost?