Growing up, Nunny would tell me to marry rich. Find a good lawyer, a doctor, get hitched. When she found out I was pregnant with my second child, she told me to make sure my boyfriend works more, works harder. I smiled, laughed it off and said he works hard enough.
Less than a week ago as she lay in bed dying, she asked if he’s still working. I told her yes. She asked me if he treats me well. I told her all the time. She said good. She said that’s what matters. I don’t need to marry rich. But I will. You see, my home is rich in laughter, rich in smiles, rich in love. My home is rich in every way that counts. My boyfriend is not a lawyer or a doctor but he’s here when I need him and let me be there when I needed it.
I wonder what epiphanies I will have on my deathbed. I wonder if she would have died happier if she during her life prioritized stable love over stable money instead.
I will live as if that’s true and in the moments that I doubt love being enough, I’ll remind myself it’s my tribute to you.
Astronauts, Yoda and Goodbyes
The last time I saw my grandmother, she was an astronaut
What I mean is, she had a spirit so strong it was out of this world
and lying in a hospital bed at the same time
Full-face mask pumping her lungs full of oxygen
and I don’t know if her lungs were really that bad
or if the room was just getting harder and harder to breathe in
I felt it too.
And how do you enforce a 2-visitor limit when you know someone is dying?
How do you enforce a 2-visitor limit in a room with five visitors,
holding on to a withering body as it holds on for dear life
Now they tell me that she passed
and I wonder if life really is a test
But of course she passed
You see, The last time I saw my grandmother, she was like… Yoda
A ball of a body with too small limbs
A heap of wrinkled skin and full of wisdom
Wiry hair and speech that leaves you puzzled
Only Yoda doesn’t wear a mask in space
And how do you enforce a 2-visitor limit when someone has hours to live?
I wanted to scream at the nurse
Ask what happens if no one leaves the room
I know it would be the moment that she realized my grandmother’s stubbornness wouldn’t expire with her body
Still asking for what we want
And if you asked her,
The worst thing about being on her deathbed was the food
And she made sure it was known
Still asked us to be nice to the boyfriend that spent years treating her wrong
My grandmother is what they mean when they say
“worried to death”
Told me I was losing too much weight, too fast
Asked me why I always get such shitty cars
Wondered if I should really be leaving the baby alone with his father
Maybe I shouldn’t stay here so long
Told my mother to leave the room and go get some food
Asked if she would make it home
Wondered if my son got his birthday money
Maybe she can have just a little more gingerale, extra ice
Told me sometimes she thinks she’s too mean to the nurses
Asked if her lungs were still working
Wondered if she’d make it home
She made it home
She never stepped foot back in her house
But she made it home, up in the sky
And I wonder how often angels are confused with astronauts
After all, they both can fly.
Now my grandmother has retired her astronaut helmet
She grew her own wings
I wonder if I would have answered the phone more
Had I known how soon death would be calling
But we always think we have more time
Then one day I find myself mindlessly scribbling a drawing
An old woman, the book of life, my grandmother’s garage door behind them
I assumed my bout of paranoia
held back the urge to ask if she was okay
found out she was not doing so well, in the hospital, the very next day
Now I’ll answer when my ears ring, when she’s calling me from the sky
Leaving a message like she passed on her love, before she died
But I still wonder what astronauts think,
What do angels think
on their way up
as they leave us all behind.
Much love, until next time.
Madeline May I... 