By: Guinevere Johnson

Dear Grandmother,
Remember when we use to sit outside, watching me splash into the miniature kiddy pool?
Remember when we use to take paper, and turn it into an object beyond our imagination?
Remember when I would sit on your lap, as you played with my tangled, wild hair with your soft, thin hands?
Remember you tucked me into the fluffy blankets and begin to tell the wild stories of my father as a child?
Yes, we would begin to raise our voices and tears begin to roll down my hot cheeks like a stormy night screaming at you.
But we also had those sunny days where we go onto the steaming sand and grabbing the long rods and begin yanking the thin string back and forth.
And the day when you took each footstep out the door, holding a rusty, old bag that seems to bloom in its own ways, it broke my heart into pieces.
Months went by as your bright, colorful room with the blue lilies bloom with the sun became dark and cold, like a blizzard.
And the nights of screams and tears came.
Watching my father in the arms of my mother
Screaming in pain and creating a river with his own tears
My mother only held him tightly, rubbing his back softly and telling him “She’s in a better place”
I only watched and began to be confused as my body became numb
I only felt as if I was drowning in my own father river of tears
And months went by as I watched my father became dull as a doll
He would sit in your room and lay in the blankets, soaking the pillows and sheets.
But I
Me
I only looked at the window and smiled.
Played in the leaves and the wind dance along with me
I only smiled, knowing you would come back and play again.
Remember when the day you left, you told me you come back and take me fishing again?