This is a poem, used with permission, from a family member, Anna Elizabeth O'Neil, of one of our grief support group members.
My Grandpa's Hands
Hold mine
as he teaches me
to skate across the ice
Knead bread
and build things
and fix the world
Make phone calls
and hammer political signs
into the ground
Gesture and motion
and emphasize a point
as he brings sanity to an argument
Spread out, palms up,
as he tells a story
and shares the truth of his life
Lay on the couch,
half circling the remote
after falling asleep
Pat backs, hold hands,
give hugs for the last time,
firm and unwavering to the end.
