When I was young

I would look at my grandmother & other old people

& wonder,

what is it like to grow so old

that so many people you love

are dead & gone?

Grandma never talked much about this,

although she made a joke

that she was the only one of 11 siblings left,

so surely,

"God must have forgotten me,"

she would say with a chuckle.

Now I am old

& the hand of death

has reached down & lifted away

so many people I love

& I have the answer to my question: what is it like?

For me, it is thus:

Sometimes, in the early morn,

when I am curled up

under my cozy blanket

in my comfy chair,

my mind goes soft as cotton,

a puffy cloud of peace descends

& they come a visitin'--

the beloveds who have passed,

sweet & kind, they say hello,

we are with you, we love you.

When this happens, 

my joy overflows--

indescribable bounty

of wonder.

Other times, when they flash into my mind during busy days,

I miss them so much

my heart breaks into pieces that sparkle in the ether

with sadness

tinged with the warmth of their love.

And so it is, 

we live, we love, we die.

Love continues,

of this I have no doubt.