Wildflowers, are we

I picked this bouquet for you

Trusting your life would be longer than theirs.

They released from their roots with ease,

knowing they would soon join the others

In His palm –

I too, held tightly.

 

You were my first taste of the black beverage,

I needed light cream –

You provided.

I imagined the sunrise from your back porch

where time was of no concern.

You touched my thigh, reminding me of my value – whispering

even though it was only the two of us.

 

Your secrets are safe with me.

 

You left Thursday before I made it home with the wildflowers.

I still snipped them and placed them in an old coffee mug on the windowsill overlooking my sink.

The magnetic butterflies breathed to life, as you took your last.

All I need now is your tight pinch on my upper arm and a seat to share.

 

At least I inherited your nose.

~~~

I miss you gram. Tell Jesus thank you.

IMG_20160716_180915
July 2011

3 thoughts on “Wildflowers, are we

  1. That was so beautiful, Bri. How lucky are we that we were picked as her granddaughters. What an amazing, graceful, and absolutely witty lady. I will forever miss her.

    Like

  2. That was beautiful Annie, your picture was a vivid moment in time with her. She loved you very much, she loved all of her grandchildren and great grandchildren. We will all miss her sweet soul so very much. My Sunday’s will never be the same.
    Aunt Jo

    Like

  3. Such a beautiful memorial. I’m praying for you and your family and most of all sending out a prayer to my own loved ones in heaven to seek her out and welcome her into their bright light ❤

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s