We would starve if flour didn’t change into bread, and we would freeze if wood didn’t change into fire. For us who are constantly in motion, change is inevitable.
But this time it wasn’t
the same kind of change.
As grains of sand chased the wounded wind
Migrating from the desert to this mourning street
Those little grains infiltrating every empty corner
Touched the cold ground and covered its scars
Listened to the wind mourn and dried its tears
Saw the crowd disperse
Then flew away.
As I opened my eyes to cry
The wind carried the sand into my eyes
I shake the grains off
Then cover my eyes and never open them again.
I am allowed to cry when the wind is too strong
I’m allowed to be, allowed to fall, allowed to heal
Before living, confronting, accepting.
I wasn’t ready.
After the careful talk
The worried stares
The quiet concern
I just didn’t care.
But the sand was running out
So I allowed myself a peek
I still wasn’t ready
To open them completely
That smile and kindness aren’t found everywhere
I close my eyes again and feel the familiar scent in the air.
I still wasn’t ready
To let go of those summer days
The hands that held mine
Now lying empty on the bedside.
I’ve walked these streets long enough to know everyone
By name, last name, and addresses
I now fear the day I saw them wearing their black dresses
And I look at them and see my grief mirrored
Their mouths straight and their faces withered.
When will I have the courage to accept this change?
“Everything we did together death did not erase
His name is spoken like it’s a familiar place”
Our life goes on and he’s still in it
One has his smile, one his kindness,
One has his passion, one his dedication, and one his wisdom.
So no, my grandpa’s death wasn’t one of those changes. It was about the journey of change, one filled with grief and denial, followed by guidance and realization.
MiC Columnist Mariam Alshourbagy can be reached at marialsh@umich.edu.