LAST WISH

My grandmother lay dying in the bedroom of the house she and my grandfather built.
Made of wood and stone and lumps of concrete,
The stale smell of mildew hovering,
It looked like something sophisticated beavers might build.
Yet it was warm on this day in May in Connecticut,
In the woods above the lake.
I sat next to her bed listening to her go in and out,
Consciousness mixing with dreams
Causing her to wake and speak then sleep and cry out.
Unsure what to do or say, I sat, held her hand, spoke soothingly
And waited,
Later, she was awake and seated in bed,
And wanted to know about my love life.
Just what did I think I was doing?
I told her I was confused,
Unsure why things didn’t work out with anyone,
She told me about her husband, my grandfather,
Their lives together in New York,
Him trying to make his way as a singer during the depression,
Selling socks from a suitcase,
She learning how to be a mother,
Knowing he was not always faithful.
She, determined to make it work, to forge their lives,
Together.
When I asked her how she did it, she said,
I knew what I wanted,
Once you know that,
The other things are not so important.