She’s Still With Me

A poem about my grandmother, GiaB writing prompt #2–5 — the elderly

She Loved me I knew it More than the rest I was her first one Who made her a grandma We’ll bring you a girl, they said And they placed me in her arms, there I stay to this day, though she’s long gone Her unconditional love’s still with me.

An etheree poem is one in which each line grows in syllable count from 1–10; after that, there are no rules!

My grandmother had two sons and six grandchildren. I was her first, a girl, and her favorite. Everyone knew it and nobody liked it.

Truth be told, I didn’t care or need to be her favorite. I just loved her love.

It was fierce, genuine, and unconditional. I never ever doubted it. I knew that I was special to her — I knew it in my bones, and no matter how many more children would be born — the bond of the first, our bond, would never again be replicated.

My grandmother was special. She was tough — a hard worker. I remember her going back to work after her open-heart surgery at a young age and later after she had a stroke. She cooked lavish Friday night dinners for the whole family and had holiday dinners for the entire extended family.

Nothing was ever too big or too much for her, and especially when it concerned me.

She would often take me on big shopping sprees; she had far more patience than I do today — anything to spend time with me and make me happy. She’d dress me in all the fanciest clothes; Benetton and the likes — from Europe! Her taste was exquisite and she always looked tip-top!

When I moved to the States as a child, she came to visit me often. She just hopped on a plane by herself and flew across the world. She called me all the time, collect-calls back in the day, just to hear my voice — hear about my day — be part of my life. She nagged me too; did you eat, did you drink enough? Yes, Savta I‘d say, somehow I eat even when you don’t call and ask!

But I knew it came from love, and oh did she love me.

I was lucky enough to have my Savta at my first wedding — in Italy. It was like a fairytale and though that marriage is long gone, as is my Savta, I often look back at those photos and remember her joy — and feel her love.

My grandmother passed in 2002, a young seventy-six year old. I miss her often. She would have loved my kids and they would have loved her. She was easy to love.

I’ll be forever grateful for our special bond and for the love we shared — the love she gave me — more than anyone else in the world — or so I felt.

Maybe that was part of her magic too.

Thank you Savta for the love you gave me, showed me, and taught me; a love that lives within me and radiates from me to this day.

Thank you Victor Sarkin at Genius in a Bottle for the prompt: write poetry, fiction, or non-fiction on the theme of The Elderly. The original prompt is below. I hereby invite the following to participate:

Carolyn Riker, Sarene B. Arias, Aimée Gramblin, Skye (Vixen Lea), Randy Shingler, Tina L. Smith, Sarah L. Harvey, Sтepн Tнoмpѕoɴ, Heather C Holmes, and Connie Song.