Friday, August 9, 2024

The Last Time

The last time I held your hand

Could have been today

Had I been brave enough 

to reach out

and feel the cold.

 

But I wasn’t

And now you’re gone

 

Were they careful when they carried you away?

Respectful?

Was there honor and reverence at the privilege

Of bearing the bones

Of so great a man

On his one last journey?

One last car ride.

One final trip. 

 

From my quiet corner

I watched the birth kids hold

the cold hand.

And kiss the cold, yellowed brow.

And brush the full head of magnificent hair.

One last time.

One last sob.

One more deep, guttural groan of grief. 

 

I stood silent in the corner

Willing myself to watch in wonder

In spite of your breathless chest 

And your ever-smiling eyes 

Shut tight.

No furrow in the 90-year brow

At all

Anymore 

 

(What do you now know that we don’t?)

 

I, the one who came to this family late.

Taking his name… your name.

 

In law.

What a phrase.

So transactional.

It could never capture what it is to love a man

And then be invited into his family.

Loved like a daughter.

But not quite.

 

Of course, not quite

the same.

Not really the same at all

as the one who is bone of your bones.


Flesh of your flesh.

The perfect reflection of the perfect one you chose 

all those years ago.

Who departed all those years ago

And left you with her mirror image 

growing up 

before your eyes.

 

You loved me the best you could

As the one who stole your son

Then made him a father

And you a grandfather

And then a great-grandfather

 

I loved you deeply.

Fiercely.

And with not a little frustration, at times.

Just like you loved me.

 

I wanted the last time I had held your hand 

to be when it was warm.

Gnarled, curled fingers

Wrapped around mine

Squeezing a thank you you could no longer speak 

 

That’s the hand I will remember. 

 

And the one that reached out into the air

Grasping for things unseen.

Trapped between two worlds 

And ready to go 

 

I don’t know who I was that day

When you reached out and buried your hand in her hair

And caressed her head with such tenderness

But I will remember that hand 

Buried against my cheek

And weep 



© 2024 Laurie Sitterding
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I process things in poetry. Always have. The heavier the thing, the stronger the drive to take to stanzas and verse. 

For the last 11 weeks we have been on a rollercoaster ride with our dear Opa, through two big falls, two brain bleeds, one brain surgery, lots of hard work and physical therapy, lots of wishes to leave this earth and go home to be with the Lord. It’s been exhausting to lose this summer (entirely—like I didn’t even notice it pass, because it was filled with working and visiting Opa, and little else). 

The details of the journey are unimportant, but the final end is that he passed into eternal glory yesterday, 11 weeks to the day after the first of two falls. I will miss him every day of my life until the end of it. He was a constant fixture and presence of wisdom and wry humor and smiling eyes and a deep, gruff voice that greeted me always with “Moooorrrgen,” whatever the time of day. I am just beginning to process what it means that he isn’t here, though I have imagined the day for over a decade, since his beloved wife departed earth ahead of him, and far too soon. Indeed, the Smiling Eyes have joined the Delightful Laugh on streets of gold. In fields of green. By quiet streams.

This is the poem I wrote, using this month's writing prompt for Poets Online—to use the phrase "the last time" in some way. It was chosen for publication. I wonder if Opa would have been proud... or maybe just a little bit embarrassed. 

Rest well, fine sir. I miss you every single day. I know I will see you soon... for "what are days and weeks and months and years," really?

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