Hair, deeply rooted, still changes.
Vivid brown roots transform to sparkling grey;
Your skin, still so elegant, keeps a smooth terrain, like soft plaster.
Green iris eyes hold a conglomerate of sights seen, loves lost, and hopes deferred.
The life you have lived oozes from your pores;
You, though aging, have really, wholly –
We all age.
Our hair may hold no secrets but our hearts, pulled with depth and certainty into our chest are the keepers of our souls.
Here, you find the tender touches of your children, the dreams unlocked, and the forgotten pain that no one sees. Here you keep surprise birthdays, the taste of vanilla bean ice cream, and the pleasures of a walk outdoors after a long spring sun-shower.
Blossoming youth become sophisticated adults become seasoned senior citizens until we are “old” –
And then –
Like a deadline, we ignore its looming until –
In death, we lose treasures:
stories told and untold;
loves revealed and unrevealed;
recipes cooked and uncooked.
A photograph does not contain your spirit.
A story, even with energy, grows old.
Herein lies grief.
Grief upon grief dances together, lies together, tarnishing the vivid array of color we once held. We weep, we weep, and we are afraid it will never stop.
Never what we had will be again. And yet. We live on.
We carry you.
We remember you.
We give to our lives the way you gave,
knowing mysteriously and gracefully that it passes on.