PoEM FOR RoSe uPoN Her DEAtH

Rose you were my step grandmother
You stole my grandfather from my dad’s mom
My parents said you were a bitch 

I never saw that side of you
But you were kind of flinty
And I heard stories about how

You punched my grandmother
Or maybe she punched you? I’m not sure
But someone got a black eye

My grandmother raised two kids on her own
You and grandpa travelled the Pacific in a yacht
You spent a lot of time in Mexico

You put clocks on cowboy boots
And sold them at craft shows
You had a New York accent like a gangster 

My wife said you were the
most beautiful old
Woman she’d ever seen

You put a spell on my grandfather
to keep him away from the family
And you lived the life of the sea

There was something I liked about you Rose
I’m not saying we got each other
But we knew how to get along

I remember two meals together
One at a Basque steakhouse in Elko
And the time you guys took me to Applebee’s in Sparks

We took your yellow 1960s Mercedes with the white leather interior
You sat in the back like you were being chauffeured
It was the most beautiful car in the world

It was the longest we ever spent together
First we went to the marina and walked around
They had just built a giant sporting goods store

At lunch you told me Obama was a Muslim
I don’t know if that was you or the Alzheimer’s talking
But after you were diagnosed it seemed to go pretty fast

The next time I saw you, you were confused and tired
You kept going to the front door and saying
“I want to go home”

Grandpa kept telling you that you were home
He tried to laugh it off like a joke
“I want to go home” 

It was like you were saying “I want to die”
He loved you and he was in so much pain
He said he wouldn’t wish it upon his worst enemy

He took care of you by himself
He didn’t want to put you in a home
When he finally did put you in a home, someone punched you in the face

He took you back out and cared for you a long time
Before he put you back in a different home again
He did this more than once

You died today which is a Saturday
Mom texted me
She said you’d been unconscious the last 24 hours

The last time I saw you
You were beyond asking to go home
You couldn’t even remember your own name

You held my infant daughter and smiled
And said beautiful, beautiful
As you caressed her head with your hand

 

 

(This poem is about my grandfather’s second wife, Rose. I wrote it on the day she died.)