Lavender
I remember
The strong smell of lavender
Drifting across the endless purple field.
The warm gentle breeze of an Indian summer,
Almost over.

I remember
The bright blue sky,
Cloudless and silent.
The musky and familiar scent of my grandmother’s perfume,
The soft touch of her wrinkled hand on my own.

I remember
Talking and laughing,
As we sat and shared
The best cup of peppermint tea I had ever tasted,
On her rustic wooden veranda.
The feeling of being completely satisfied
With life, love, and happiness.

I remember
The day coming to a close.
The shadows of twilight approaching
Like a spider waiting to catch its prey,
As she said the words,
“I love you.””

I remember
The hospital,
Unforgiving and terrifying.
The chill of ripe uncertainty
The unfamiliar feel of that same wrinkled hand,
I had touched a lifetime ago.
I remember
The doctor saying she wouldn’t make it,
As she mouthed to me the words
That seemed to reach into my eight year old heart
And rip it out, then slowly shred it to pieces:
“I love you.””

I remember
September twenty eight, two thousand and two.
The priest speaking kind words of wisdom
Of her yesterdays and her courage.
The tears in my family’s eyes.
The heart-breaking sorrow
Looming over all of us.

But most of all,

I remember
The bittersweet smell of lavender,
From the branch I placed on her grave.
And the soft wrinkled hand
Waving down at me from heaven.