Grandma's Faded Dreams

Dad’s mother never recognized me She would just lie in bed before a TV And I always wondered why she blankly stared At a screen filled with snowy images, as if she never cared In my childhood years, I couldn’t relate How grandma had reached this dreadful state I thought of her as oblivious and introverted But she’d been that way since her husband deserted Dad was but four and his sister one When the family unit came undone There were times grandma would glance at photos by her bed Faded images of ancestors long dead It wasn’t until I was twelve years old On a Christmas Day with temperatures cold That my father received the distressing call And down his face a tear did fall The call from a half-brother he’d never known Bore a message that chilled Dad to the bone “Our father’s gone,” this stranger said Dad turned and related, “Your grandfather’s dead.” At the funeral we met uncles Bob and Tom Upon viewing the casket, we strove to remain calm This man who looked so much like Dad Had remarried without divorcing, yet we were sad A bigamist who’d left his wife to waste away Heavy on my heart, grandma’s plight did weigh Now I knew why her mind had been cast adrift And why through old memories she’d always sift Dad treated grandma with compassion and respect But upon her death, Dad did reflect On his only childhood memory of joy A trip with his father to Coney Island for a four-year-old boy *Entry for Carol’s “Memories of Grandma or Grandpa” contest