Now and at the hour.

There are no words for what I feel right now.
I am sitting in the wooden kitchen chair I always sit in when I write.
I feel the firmness on the underside of my thighs, feel the familiar prop of my toes, like a dancer, upright and stiff.
My body is here, I feel it, know that it exists.
I am only aware however that I am real by the extension of my limbs, the contrast of feeling, them to the wood to the floor.
I am in preparation for death mode again.
My eyes burn with tears that fill and then seem to dissolve before spilling.
The inside of my nose tickles with anticiaption of the real cry,
the inevitable, unstoppable tidal wave of grief.
There are no words for what she has meant to me.
Are not enough words, no perfect succession, pairing, poem or song,
that can ever, will ever spell out the gravity of this love I feel for her.
I am confident there are no words,
not even my own.
And here come the real tears now.
I wish that I could tell her one more time, although it has all been done and said before.
I wish that I could squint past the sunspot on the back porch peer into her amber flecked eyes and say one more time "Nana can I throw the bread ends to the birdies now?"
I wish that I could hear her whistle,
hear her say "see you later Alligator"
taste her macaroni and cheese.
Drink a cup of tea.
Have her reach in to feel my feverish forehead.
Hear the tea cups in the dining room rattle as she strides the floor towards my room.
Call me tweetie.
Call me Deb-or-ah Ann.
Hold my little hand.
Eat friendlys ice cream.
Go to the Holiday bazaar at the Knights of Columbus.
Watch her set the wishbone on the windowsil to dry.
Make gravy.
Get her a kleenex.
Watch her blot bright red lipstick.
There are so many moments from the last 41 years of life that I wish I could return to, if even for just a second, a flash of what was, one more "take a look at me now Nana" - just one more time.
Once more before it all changed, once more before she leaves me now.
I would not stop her, if I could.
I want her to go.
But I want her to stay inside me too.
I want to be little.
I want to be her Granddaughter forever.
I want keep every single kiss, every single smile, every wink.

My safe place is leaving.
Where will I go?
Who will pray for me now?

And I can hear her in my head, "offer it up."

She taught me to be gentle.
She taught me to be kind.
She taught me to write letters and send cards.
She taught me to be proud of who I am.
She taught me selflessnes.
She taught me to be respectful.
She taught me to cook.
She taught me to act like a lady.
She taught me to love.
She taught me to sing.
She taught me about dignity.
She taught me to have grace.
She taught me to knit.
She taught me to swim.
She taught me to do everything I know.

She made me every good thing that I am.

I am glad that I named my daughter after her. I am thankful she lived long enough to see her great grandchildren, thankful she was able to say "Emma Claire" while beaming with pride steeped in family tradition.
I am glad my stew tastes just like hers and that I don't flip my omelettes.
Her violet is bright purple now, a purple so saturated the color seems unnatural.
It's fitting.
You got to win a little lose a little and always sing the blues a little, that's the story of, that's the glory of love....
It's the ebb and flow, the giveth and the taketh, the balance - I know Nan.
It's always about the balance.
41 a big year for me...
She saved my life simply by living hers.
Thank you.
I love you.

There are no words for you Nana, none that strike any kind of dent.
All I can think of are these...

Our Father who art in heaven......