Remember

I don't remember evey single thing she ever said
My memory didn't record it word by word
Even though I'd hang on to every single word she said,
as if they were tiny shining crystals on display
So I remeber her by how I can

Like how bread and butter in the morning, with a nice conversation, was our thing,
and though the hands that hold the bread today are smooth and soft and young
I can still remember her wrinkled shakey hands spreading the butter and the,
'Come sit and have a converstaion with me darling'

I remember how she used to sit and listen to me read for hours
Never once did anything but a smile grace her features,
and even though I was the worst reader in the second grade,
she sang my praises and told me I was getting better by the minute

I remember one day getting ready for bed
Thinking of how lucky I was to have my nanny
Someone in my class lost their grandfather,
but I just knew I wouldn't have to worry about it,
Not for a very long time

Two months later, my nanny passed away

I remember when I heard the news
I had been sitting on my bed watching a show about mermaids
My mother walked into my room with a red splotchy face,
and even then at a young age I knew something was really wrong
When she told me we both hugged each other and cried
That was the first time I ever saw my mother cry,
and I don't remember the name of the show
I never watched it again

I remember the funeral,
the tender age of nine
How I held her dead cold hands and sobbed until I couldn't breathe,
and the bagpipes playing loud outside the church
The bagpipes, they were her favorite
I hate the bagpipes

I remember how she used to sing to me
On Top of Spaghetti, the Itsy Bitsy Spider, and about the old man who bumped his head,
and my grandmother just didn't get up one morning
Though other things already had tainted my innocence, even at nine years old
I never had to deal with death,
and that morning when she didn't wake up
A part of me would sleep forever as well,
and I just wish I could remember it all