To Mom Mom's the world over.

I am trying to get through a hard day. I don't know if it the use of the word Mom Mom or that I have been thinking about my own of late. It always comes a great surprise to me when a Mom Mom dies. It may be that I feel like they should be here with us forever. Giving advice, being outspoken, giving that unconditional love that I so miss, that only a grandparent can give.
I am so happy that my children have a Mom Mom, because I am not sure what it would be like for them without one, "lost." I loved mine dearly. I think the big reason that Eric and I are together today is because the one thing we had in common was that our grandmothers lived with us growing up. We both had many memories of loving Mom Mom's.
So thinking about Brie and her family as they go through much pain. I remembered a poem I had written and rewritten at different times since my grandmother passed, and have decided to share it, and maybe help soften their pain a little.

Healing
You have been dead for almost a year now; the time of death echoes within my soul, the dusty moments before the first rays of sun reached the earth. I have not forgotten, my prayers had finally reached the heavens.
Dressed in pink silk, I go through the emotions. Tear drops fall like a warm spring rain, deep inside until I over flow with pain.
I breathed in fresh smell of the flowers, giving me a chance to breath out the pain.
The sun bright, shined over everyone who attended, and the air itself was warm for March.
The music, the stupid music played until every last rose was placed on the casket.
I thought hopelessly I had lost you forever. I searched myself for every memory I had of you; so it would be constant, as if you never left. The sickness, the sadness erased. Returning to all the places we visited, touched, some how trying to let go and continue on. And finally knowing it would never be the same.
I have thought about you everyday. Naturally some of the words you so often used, I use. I see glimpse of you reflecting back at me in the mirror. My mothers hands, my baby's smell. As you touched each one before they came to me.
Then it occurred to me, finally you are here with me, because in part, you are me.
Sarah Marie McManus Haney "Ada"
March 12 1995