for Grandpa
There came a day when we had to say goodbye
A day when your smallest grandchildren
Clutched the strings of helium balloons,
Wanting to hold on; knowing they couldn’t.
They let go
And so did we. For
a few moments
We looked beyond ourselves
And watched the balloons.
They drifted
Beyond our reach, beyond our sight.
But in memory I saw where they seemed to vanish
And hoped to find a constellation; a star
Somewhere to point out to my children and say:
Remember the balloons?
Remember Grandpa?
That night I sought out your place in the heavens
And found the red star, Mira.
The name, so like yours, is Latin for “wonderful.”
Maybe it was a message, but I couldn’t comprehend
How it was wonderful that time would go on,
Leaving us to stumble in the dark, adjusting to your
absence.
Somehow the seasons still passed, the moon waxed and
waned
And the world spun on, counting nights and days without
you.
But in these days and nights I’ve begun to understand.
Mira is a variable star that seems to fade away, to
disappear,
But it’s never actually gone.
Even when you can’t see it anymore, it’s still there,
Still with us, like you.
Still with us, like you.
