If nature commemorated deaths
the world would come to a standstill.
So all I can do is watch the pale orange glow
spread across the sky and think
this is the start of the first day
without you.

I remember
white sheets, clean and sharp folds
a blank canvas of purity.
Nothing highlights
our fragility
more than a hospital bed.

A blank canvas blanketing
all but your hands—
Hands that looked so thin they could snap
when I held them in my own.
Hands that are nothing but weathered skin and bones.
Yet they are the hands that helped raise me
that would playfully tap me on the head
before you pretended to look away.
And I hope you felt all I wanted to say but couldn't
as I gripped your hand in mine.

A blank canvas blanketing
all but your face—
a face that always broke into the
cheeky, sideways grin of my childhood;
a mouth that would bark a loud,
full-bellied laugh
now covered by a mask.
And I wanted to tear it away
because it terrified me,
how small it made you look.

and I woke
to the sound of my mother's sobs.

Tears can't revive
a heart that won't beat.
And as I watch the sunrise,
I understand that
life are moments
that become stories
that become history.
And I am so grateful
to have been a part of

A/N: in memory of my grandfather, who passed away on 26 Sep 2015, and who never failed to share his love, spirit and stories with me.