In my final year of college, I lost my great-grandfather and great-grandmother in the same weekend. I had never known them to spend a day apart, so I guess it was only fitting that they went to the next adventure together. While we were driving in the funeral procession to the grave site, my father started to relate memories that he'd had of both of them. I hadn't had a lot of interactions with my great-grandparents through the years, so I relied on my father to fill in the gaps for me. His memories served as the basis for the following poem.
I ride in this procession of death and feelings of solitude and loneliness wash over me.
My thoughts drift back to the grandparents I am here to bury.
Oh, what I wouldn't give for one more conversation about the old days,
For one more tantalizing waft of one of grandma's irresistible catfish dinners,
Or just to see a smile on grandma's face as she laughed at grandpa's logic.
But I realize that I am here today to let them go.
I am here today to give these ones back to God.
And as much as I would like to just lie down in that grave with them
I know that I must go on; life must go on.
For God has not yet called me home; it is not my time to go.
There are those in this life that need me; that need me still.
For even as one generation is ending another is just beginning.
My son has come here today to support me.
He never truly knew my grandparents, at least not the way I did.
So, now it is up to me to carry on my grandparent's legacy to him.
Just as one day he will do the same for me and his children for him.
Until our lives become one continuous tale; one constantly changing journey;
Intertwined by the words that weave them together.
And we will live on in this life as our stories are passed down...
through the Generations.
