Going to my great-grandmother’s house

Brought that childhood joy that starts to 

Drift away as you grow old.

It brought kindness, kindness like singing songs on Christmas Day.

She’d make her classic chicken salad.

It had crunchy, crisp celery and bright green chives

That’s still here, not made by her though.

She’d have lefse ready

with brown-sugar butter. 

Sweet sugar mixed with

floury dough.

Spread by her flower-engraved butter knives.

Her house smelt like

Dust or

That original “grandparent” smell.

I assume the dust smell came from the farm she lived on.

Coming in from the field in the fall

With the wind blowing in the dried dirt

Dried cornstalk.

Orange, yellow, and red leaves that

Crumble in your hands when you touch them. 

Her hands would shake like crazy

With wrinkles that crinkled when she moved

The platinum white hair atop her head

Would sometimes get dyed blonde by my kind mother

I remember staying at her old, white house

Just months before she passed.

She’d just gotten a dog.

Now he’s a family dog.

My cousin and I were staying the night.

It was windy and because the house was so old, 

It felt like it’d blow over.

You could hear the dog howling outside,

She hated having animals in the house.

My cousin and I, at our young ages,

Were afraid the dog would get attacked by the

Wild

Evil

Coyotes.

What we didn’t know at the time,

Was that there was something more evil

Coming our way.

That evil thing was the 

Cold

Dark

Death.

A death that swallows someone whole

And everyone else around them.

Death that fills everyone with grief

Grief that just puts someone in a constant state of

Wonder. Wondering, “What happened?” or 

“Why can’t we see grandma anymore?”

Almost 5 years ago,

I heard my mom get a call in the middle of the night.

That cold, bitter, January night.

I heard her leave briskly. Almost like she was distressed. 

I had yet to find out where she went.

The next morning my brother and I were asking if we

Could go and see grandma.

My mom took the three of us into her room

One. By. One.

I was first, walking back out of her room weeping.

I’ll never know for sure but I can assume that my brothers

Were listening under the door for the 

Terrible

Devastating

Shattering

News they had yet to hear.