The Fingerprints Left by Loss

A poem on the perspective of memories when losing a loved one

After I finished watching

One Word

’s, “Dada” two weeks ago, I thought about my grandpa calling me “little lady” (a nickname he’s had for me since I was a kid, probably because I stopped growing at around 12) and our sweeter moments a few weeks before he passed. I then cried, and overflowing with emotion, let the poem below pour out of me.

Thank you so much for reading.

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A quickie by me. For the featured image aesthetic.

It’s amazing how we all have such.
Different.
Stories.

Among ourselves, and with others.
We all weave our own perspectives,
experiences, and energies with

one another.

This hit me like a cold, expansive stone.
Once mom died.

When someone can’t be there anymore,

There’s no more ways to let resentment linger.
No more ways to take advantage of anything precious
they ever did

because you both have all the time

in
the
world

to do something appreciative again.

Until you don’t.
Because they’re no longer here on this earth.

And then reality hits.

And you react to it.
You reflect on it.

On them.

You remember how that person made you FEEL, as Maya Angelou said.

I don’t know why I only braced myself for an immense flow of feral sadness at any time during the grief of my mom.

I’ve felt engulfing anger.
I’ve felt gratitude.
I’ve felt frustration.
I’ve felt relief.
I’ve felt pity.

I’ve felt so many emotions in such specific ways that could never be mirrored by anyone else who’s experienced her.

Each imprint she left behind is like a fingerprint.

We, unfortunately, got to test my theory again when my grandpa passed.

I sit here, crying, thinking about all the little moments that counted.

Despite us not being close, he was there when it counted.

And I realize, I only got one version of him.

So many experiences,

felt by so many people.

He’s imprinted us all with different
fingerprints.
Memories.
Perceptions.

Just like mom.

Thank God for the pastor who consoled us over the phone.

When mom’s death was still fresh.

He told us about the different stories we hold and understand when it comes to our loved ones.

And that it was okay to feel them.

This, just like death, is a natural process.

Thanks, again, for being here. :)