should you be reading this, i do hope you enjoy the book as much as i did
should you be a stranger i should say
if you knew me, if i was shaken from the pages, please donate the book from which i fell
if you are stirred by this- read this book before passing it on
or at least that is what i would do
(yes, that was on purpose)
if you miss me it will pass
you will only think of me with things that make you laugh
i know that and it was what i enjoyed most in life next to Jesus- making you laugh
i kept very few things in my life-
my last bit of advice- things mean nothing, and weigh you down with what some call 'nostalgia' but it is all just greed; things and time
you can not have everything all the time, yesterday is not actually here if you tuck it away
... when you are older you will realize more that living in the present is the only way to actually be 'living'
when you continue to capture and save the past, you are worshiping something dead
be clean, be neat, be minimal - living exists there, everything else is mud
if you are missing someone
that emotion is something you are hanging on to and does nothing for the person you loved, no matter your faith or belief if grief is shaping you negatively- they whom you grieve not only do not care but are completely unaware, so if possible... be happy in your life and do not dwell on things that can not be changed, but instead change the things you never want to dwell on
... known to you or not, when i was 'here' I loved. i loved through my career, which started as service in someway or another to others before i even finished grade school ... i was only happy to be there when i was helping the least of these, the forgotten and those who were like me, less---- and be assured i am much happier now
you can throw this away, or place it in something you unhitch from yourself in this life so to be a bit more free- but whatever you do, please do not keep this- it is nothing if it is only kept
my grandpapa & grannys house got sold, too.
Dear Plexi,
My grandparents house sold not that long ago. Last Sunday we were all there, picking it to pieces, taking sofas and paintings off the walls and piling them into vans. leaving only the bare bones.
I felt in my bones the way your poem, 'Grandpa & Grandma’s house sold today' never once mentions the house. It made me think of how, on Sunday, when we gutted each room, it wasn't sad. Because the house was already soulless, already gone, and the sadness is not in the loss of the house, but the loss of everything it contained. The memories of the loss. I ramble, I fear, but your poem stirred up so many feelings.
My grandparents too, were Christian. Are Christian. I don't know how the tenses work when they are meant to still exist in some form up there. I hope that everything they believed is true. I hope both of our grandparents' are up there, somewhere, together, maybe.
It is so wonderful, though the positive words taste wrong in this context, that you were there when they passed. I was not there. My granny passed in her sleep, quietly I suppose, because grandpapa didn't stir. The nurse told him in the morning that he'd been dozing next to a corpse. I'm glad she went peacefully, though in truth she'd gone long before then, succumbing to dementia, forgetting our names.
Grandpapa died of a heart attack. It was quick, a shock. Three days before he'd sat with me and my brother in the garden, drinking tea. He still walked to get the newspaper every morning. He would've been 90 this year. I'm glad he went quickly, but I was angry at the time. He was meant to see me graduate, maybe make it to my eldest brothers wedding, in a wheelchair, in a decade.
Your poem made me remember all this, so fresh again. Your poem is so beautifully, heart wrenchingly written. I would say I'm sorry for your loss but that seems wrong. You gained so much from having them in your life. Maybe not for as long as we would have liked. But to grieve is to love, and be loved. I won't say sorry about that to you, or me.
Your grandparents would be so proud of you. In a way I hope, if they are up there, they can't remember you because if they do they must miss you so, so much. But then again I know they would disagree with me and proclaim that the pain would be worth it to remember how loved they were, and how they loved.
I'll stop myself now, I do go on.
Sending you much love, Plexi.
From,
Rose.