Sorrow Full

So many silly

Habits form

Over a lifetime of

Odd expectations.

My grandmother

Would always send me

A birthday card.

It was one of two

Cards I would receive

My mother, following

Up with the second.

My grandmother

Would write with a style

Crafted in a different time.

Beautiful cursive

Looping letters

Laced and leaped

In a divine line.

I could barely read

Her writing it was

So whimsical and

We would often joke

About the family

Translating team

Deployed to solve

The riddle of good cheer.

But today, I know,

That I will never receive

One of those cards again.

Because

my grandmother

Is dying.

Her Christmas tree

Decorating was always

a peak event that can

Only be seen to be

Experienced.

The house would

Become alive with

All the charms we

Did not earn

In the bickering

Eleven months between.

Grandmother would

Cook a feast for

An army and tease us

That we couldn’t

Eat four plates

While simultaneously

Question if we were

Getting fat.

She was Lokian like that.

She just loved to

Be involved in your reality.

Whether you liked it

Or not.

She would always

Yell over the phone

If you were talking

To grandpa.

We as a family

Fractured our

Geography

For sanity sake.

We would always

Wonder, why

She was so rude like that.

But it measured us

For what we considered

Not rude.

She made us good people

By annoying us into

Being good people.

I see now that,

for all that

Transpired, there was

Madness in the method

But the results are that

We love and care for those

Who love and care.

What a gift that is

From someone who always

Yells over your story.

Now, we know that she will

Never interrupt a call.

Never interrupt a conversation.

Never be the center of attention.

Except in our hearts.

Her time is limited,

But unknown.

Like all of us.

But as the story

Winds down

So do all the nuances

That were once

Such an annoyance

That instead

We now beg,

For grandmother to

Annoy us,

One more time.