From the Handwritten Journal: "I Am a Grandchild"

This one is about my grandfather, John. He is one of the most amazing people to ever walk this earth, as was my grandmother, who passed away last Christmas. I am humbled to even claim to know these people, much less to be their only granddaughter. I thank God for their presence in my life, and all the things they taught me with their words and with their actions.

I am a Grandchild

When he picked up the phone, there was age in his voice
He greeted her as though he spoke through old steel pipes
His emotion was painted plain, flat and wide
Like a wall before her path

She is bone from his very bones, flesh of his flesh
And so, with just a handful of words, she felt it all
The weight of a century of love, crushed at his feet
He tells her that he misses her.

Last week, she saw a picture of herself, eyes cast down
And though she always looked just like her mother
That photograph showed someone else, another woman
It showed his beloved, now lost to death

"I am a grandchild," she tells him, "A perfect product"
"Raised in the warm shelter of the love that you held."
"It pains me so much to say these things to you,"
"But she is alive in me."

When he cried, she sat there, spinning
She tried to make the world hold still again
His weakness gave her so much strength that hour
To speak what needed to be spoken

The phone line buzzes, and outside the rain falls.
Four thousand miles wind together like fibers in a rope
Coiling back and back, they find themselves sitting together
And destiny is finally satisfied.