My Grandad was a detail guy… a planner. If I didn’t know better, I would say that he planned his passing to coordinate with the beautiful weather forecasted for his funeral on Monday. He selected the caterer for the celebration afterwards, the music, and the poems to be read.
|Katie + Grandad|
A couple of years ago, my cousin, Katie, wrote a poem about Grandad for school. That is one of the poems he requested, as well as, The Songs of The River by W.R. Hearst. Last Sunday when we were all together, he asked she and I to read them to make sure he liked the way they sounded. (I told you he was a planner…)
Katie kindly agreed to let me share her poem with you here.
Jimmie CalvinBy Katie LipscombI love singin’ the blues,Slow dancin’ on your shoes,Let’s put on our pj’sAnd shoot the moon.When mornin’ comes,Clanking pots and pans,Let’s go feed the fawn, Jimmie,There’s age on your hands.And after we’ll dream in hammocks,And eat onions from the ground,Trade stories of Pickle sistersAnd look at all the bugs we’ve found.I’ll pitch washers with the sandmanAnd if he’ll hold this moment still,I am 5 and so are youAnd we’ve got all the time to killI’ll see you in your overallsOn the farm where you grew up,I’ll see you get the beltWhen you try and act too tough.I’ll see you walk to school,I’ll see you give Ruby a ring,I’ll see your love grow,I’ll see your faults show,But I’ll be damned if I miss a thing.For I see what you are,And it is infinite,And I thought it’s timeYou should know,That I measure your spiritIn the mountainsAnd my love for youIn miles.
Would you like to share your story? Please contact us at firstname.lastname@example.org