My Ancestral Angels and Demons

My Ancestral Angels and Demons

You always used to tell me,

and still say so today,

that I am just like her.

Something in my smile,

the way I carry myself,

the deep and piercing blue of my eyes—

seems to you like a reincarnation

of that strong-willed woman

who framed your very existence

called you her baby

sang you lullabies

and raised you to be the woman you are.

In the darker corners of the night

when sleep evades my willing fingers

I often think to myself

wonder silently

and introspectively

what my life would be like

if I had known her—

seen the strength behind her eyes

and the wisdom and grace behind her smile.

I imagine

in anguished twilights

and twisted midnights

the questions I would ask

feel her arms wrap around me,

The warmth of her embrace

and the end of the silent mystery of her existence—

but know it can never be.

I feel the fresh hot tears

and close my eyes.

I imagine her saying she’s proud of me.

That’s not saying I ever felt deprived

without having her here—

you gave me and the boys everything

we ever needed and more.

I am who I am because of you.

Just when I see friends

who knew their grandmothers well,

have thousands upon thousands of memories

stored in the memory banks of their minds,

I think of how she was ripped from my life

before I was even a thought.

I hear the erratic heartbeats

 pulsing in my head--

feel the echoes of the disease that took her away.

I think,

sometimes for seconds,

sometimes for hours,

how I just want to know her,

and get the chance to say

how deeply honored I am

every time you tell me that I’m like her.

That I have her eyes,

her hair,

or her laugh.

I keep these treasures close to my heart.

I wonder what she would say.

I hope that she would love me,

accept me as you do.

I’d like to think she would,

I won’t ever really know.

But really,

truly,

I’m scared to death of the age

Of 24—

that year when you lost the woman who held your world together.

I see the expressions on your face

When you speak of her,

the pain and the anguish

behind the memories of her loss

that haven’t faded in thirty years.

I can’t help but wonder

when I’ll lose you.

My world.

My anchor.

So I pray—

whenever I get a chance---

to God,

even though He and I have always walked a rocky path—

that he keeps Edith safe in heaven,

keeps Mary-Ann as close to Him as she is to our hearts,

and keeps you with me as long as possible.

original: 3.2011

latest: 3.2011