You missed being a grandmother

Now that I’m about to be

You missed the sticky fingers

The kiss on the bruised knee.


You missed the baby’s breath

Short and hot against your skin

You missed seeing the resemblance

Of your own in her or him.


You missed all the things

That I can’t wait to do

You missed walking barefoot

On mown grass laced with dew,


Holding on tight

Their fingers upon yours

As their toes grasp each blade

All the world theirs to explore.


Their eyes alive with delight

Ever onward they implore

And you watch yourself

Like them wanting ever more.


You missed all these things

Because you chose to not be there

Then you died and left us

One less thing about which to care.


But I will not miss a moment

I will do for you and me

I will be there and experience

A different finality.