Mourning

The air was thick, 

heavy and clouded with uncertainty.

We all huddled in the house uneasily,
Waiting for the rituals to be completed,

Unsettled and lost,

Because the lady of the house,

Lay in a white shroud, cold and frigid.

An expression of peace had settled on her 

face ,

For today all her children were near her,
the way she always wanted.

Today, it was her turn,

to disappear from our eyes,

the way we used to,

as she looked on.

People streamed into the house,
Whispering ,afraid to scatter the silence,
Paying their homage,
Sympathizing at our loss.

Grandpa though was in a frenzy,

Running around the house,
Making arrangements,
Calling out for needs,

Bursting out at the lack of response,
Scolding others for their inaction.

Dad buried in grief,
Looked at his mother,
Asked grandpa to sit a while.
He stared and replied,
“Sitting doesn’t make things happen.”

And he was back,
frantically, settling everything right.

All had been set.

It was time to take her,
For once, grandpa sat beside her,
His eyes searching all about her,
As he ran his hands all over her ,
As if to be assured for one last time,
That she would not heed to his calls anymore,
No more angry retorts,
No more of disagreements.
A low whimpering rose from him
as he buckled down to the grief.