I'll Try

I'll try to remember you, Grandma
Wrinkled skin
Short, gray hair
Rosy complexion
Hands that held golf clubs, caressed babies, ladled homemade soup into bowls, fanned out bridge cards

I'll try to remember you, Grandma
But where'd you go?
This isn't you
Yes, your skin is still wrinkled
Your hair is still short and gray
But where is the pink that once tinged those cheeks?
Those hands that once held so much now pick crumbs off tables, probe surfaces, reach out into the air but grasp nothing

Grandma, I know that Alzheimer's has eaten away at your mind
But I'll try to remember you as you once were
Those times at Musgoot farm
When you'd take us minigolfing
When you would climb into bed with Justin and me when we couldn't fall asleep

I'll try to remember you as the woman who taught kids
Not the woman with the crazy, fleeting eyes who lay prostrate on her bed, claiming that George Washington had just been there, and that maybe John Adams hadn't been such a nice guy after all

I'll try to remember you, Grandma
You make it hard
But yes
I'll try

Author's Note: In poetry club a week ago, we were given twenty minutes to write a poem on the theme of loss, and this is what I wrote.