Grandmother’s Words
A poem about writing & family

“Sixty years,” I told her when she published her debut at age ninety. “I have sixty years to catch up to you.”
She laughed and told me, “Don’t wait.” Even so, I delayed six years not sixty to follow in her footsteps, her inspiration outlasting her.
I wish I had one more day to tell her what I learned in the interim. But she is still listening, I think — regardless.
My grandmother Elizabeth (my father’s mother) was an amazing woman, and she self-published her nonfiction book at age 90 (pictured above). She’d spent over a decade researching the subject matter, which was about her father immigrating to Canada from the Netherlands. While she knew a bit of Dutch, she taught herself a bit more (although she had someone else translate her father’s letters back home, which are used in her book), and even traveled to the Netherlands with several of her siblings to “follow in her father’s footsteps” when he was a young man.
This poem is taken from a conversation I had with her a couple years before she passed away. While we always talked about writing, she never read my first book, which was published after she passed. The dedication in it reads: “To my grandmothers — the strongest women I’ve ever known. I miss you.”
While there’s much more to my grandmother’s story and I might someday write it, she’s popped up in my poetry more than once… and she probably will again.
