My short, silky pigtails were brushing
through the wind while you pushed me on the swings,
since my little legs couldn’t swing myself.
This day, you took me to Mcdonald’s because
you knew the Happy Meal was my favorite.
You and Grandma spoiled me with love and warmth
because I was the only granddaughter.
Each day was bright and sunny whenever I spent time with you.
Then I noticed, you took a few breaths from your inhaler.
At six years old, this day was odd.
Gloomy and slightly chilly. There were not as much laughs.
Less times of getting Mcdonald’s.
You coughed numerous times. One gets louder than the other.
Once again, you took a few breaths from your inhaler.
I started second grade.
You seemed to be getting worse.
More visits to the hospital. Less time with me.
A new addition, the oxygen tank.
At eight years old, I remained in the waiting room.
No such thing for an eight year old in the emergency room.
The amount of boredom led my auntie
to braid my frizzy hair at least three times.
My mother finally arrived and announced,
you will remain there for awhile.
Another addition, more tubes strapped onto you.
By nine years old, you still were being cared for.
I played with neighborhood friends.
However, one call changed me.
Your voice was scratchy.
You slowly inhaled as much air as you could
and would cough every other time.
No more coughs or inhaling,
you passed away.
My medium, wavy hair brush through the halls of highschool.
I continue to try to achieve my goals.
I can swing myself now!
There are more grandchildren, which two of them are little girls.
The weight slowly brushes off my shoulders
knowing you are in a better place,