She Grace Wadell

She is grandmother to me and the ‘Lucky thirteen.’ She is strong. She is funny. She cares for others. She is sunny! Her name is Marie, Mother of my Father. Her strength never falters. Her reality...altered. She is lost in a cloud of overlapping memories And mixed-up time. She forgets, But I remember. She repeats herself, But I listen. She is the tallest tree In our family forest. She is the lighted path. She is a beam of warmth. She is my grandma. Her name is Marie. I was a baby Cradled in her arms, an apprentice in her kitchen. I was her helper in her garden. She would sneak me treats Without my parents’ permission. She introduced me to her neighbors With so much pride and joy. She placed my hand in hers. It was our time for a new adventure. They lasted until I was 5. Grandpa died. Grandma cried.

I knew in that moment Of loss and grief That l could be her sunshine. I could be her relief.

We’d often visit her... My mom, my dad and me Until a GLOBAL PANDEMIC prevented us to see Her in her new apartment, Her in structured care, Her in new surroundings, Likely with whiter hair, She talks to me on the phone sometimes. She listens to me share. She believes that I am younger, with shorter, lighter hair. She talks a lot about Weather... Flowers... And new friends. She moves on to different timelines again, But our love has no end. She is grandma.

She is Marie. She is a part of me.

Grace Wadell, Grade 5 Bailey Elementary School, Woodbury Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali