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Grandmother Christine
If I could take those words back and trade them in do you think I could do it?
Do you think I would have rode in the car with the women that had the short red hair?
Where are you now that I need you?
Are you in heven with grandda?
Are you sleeping on a pillow made up of clouds?
Of course you could end up in hell.
But I won't think of you like that. And neither will big brother.
My heart aches with your absence and I can her your old voice cracking as you sing my lulaby.
I feel your cool touch as you caress my cheek to check for the feaver.
I smell your husky sent of sandalwood and clover.
I feel you brushing back my blonde hair with the silver brush that you pulled through your own black mane.
I feel you slipping through my fingers and I see you last on the small couch curled up with me as a small child.
I cry out, you look up and smile with tears in your eyes and I hear you say those last words I will ever hear fall from your lips "I love you sweetheart. Goodbye."
And then I wake.
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