Common Ground
My mom called earlier today
And told me that she was going through
Some things that she and my dad
Had brought back with them
From one of their last trips to Canada
After her parents' house was sold
Among her mother's items was a hardbound book
A compilation of poems from the 1920's
From well-known poets
Mom asked me if I wanted it
She thought I might enjoy it
And that I might like to have something
That belonged to my grandmother
And that the book might mean more to me
Than it did to her
Since poetry is my thing and not hers
She enjoys reading the poems of mine
That I share with her
But she's never written any herself
And as far as she knows
Neither had her mother
But apparently she did enjoy reading the book
I told my mother yes
I wouldn't mind taking a look at it
I thanked her for thinking of me
And I was happy that she had
But at the same time it also hurt
It hurts to find out things that
I may have had in common
With my grandmother
Now that she is dead
When there isn't a damn thing
I can do about it
All I can do is feel the pain
Of being kept at a distance
Of not being allowed to share her life
Or the person that she was
Or the things we had in common
7.3.07
Author's Notes
I loved my grandmother. But it seems that I didn't know her at all. I am finding out so much more about her now that she is dead than I ever knew when she was alive, which to me is a shame.
After she passed away in January of 2001, I found out that she was quite an amateur photographer. And now today, my mother tells me that apparently she liked poetry as well. Both photography and poetry are passions of mine. Finding out now that they may have been hers as well leaves me feeling empty, and cheated out of a closer relationship that we could have shared.
Honestly, I don't think I'll ever understand why she wouldn't share herself with me.
Which got me to wondering if I shared myself with her? I think I did. I remember when I started working and what I bought with my very first paycheck was a 35mm SLR camera. It wasn't the most expensive but still it was a nice camera. I'd wanted one for a very long time. One of the first subjects I chose to photograph was flowers. I knew that my grandmother loved them. She had flower gardens at their house in the city and at the cottage down on the island. I made a photo collage for her. So, she would have known I was into photography.
I also shared my poetry with her as well. The poem I wrote for her called Grammy and the one for my grandfather called This Shirt, I had framed and gave to them one year. I even read the poems to them with a living room full of family members. So, she knew I wrote poetry too. But she never said one word about the fact that she liked poetry herself.
She was always such a private person. I really wish she had let me get to know her before it was too late.
