She was a jiving powerhouse of smiles
and deep laughter, her hugs furnaces,
enveloping grandchildren in pure adoration,
spilling attitude over the brim of bejeweled glasses.
How little time makes of everything she was.
It chips and chafes and rubs her edge away.
She moves now with no more spring in her gait,
her smiles uncertain, her eyes searching for recognition,
and what was once a shoulder to lean on
has become one of defeated acceptance
and we struggle to hold on to as much of her as we can,
before that, too, fades away.
We love her still, and she loves us still,
and somewhere in between the fumbled memories
she grins at us still, these ever-diminishing footholds
to the future, and when she leaps it is us who will need
to catch our balance, catch our breath,
and go on loving her, living for her,
remembering her for who she was.
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