Thursday, 16 August 2018


(I read this aloud at my grandmother's funeral on Monday. I feel like some people who couldn't make it would like to read it.)


Gramma Reetz.

Who was Lois.
What’s her middle name?
(Carolynne Jean I found out earlier.)

Tucking me in super tight
Marshmallow squares
The only time I ever ate peanut butter as a kid.
I love the stuff now...

The smell of cigarettes in the morning
Tinted with fresh buns. Buttered lightly.
And, if I’m being honest... a little dry.

Country music on an AM radio
That morning Saskatchewan summer sun shining in
The ride from Saskatoon was 4 hours.
I’d always get turned around at the midpoint diner.

You birthed us all. All twenty something of us...
without counting on my fingers, I figured...

You taught us all.

You were Echo opposite a Narcissistic world.
Simple. Clean. Smiling.
The farm.
Miss Kitty, that cat.
The smell of hogs... bittersweet in my nose at least.
Like Saskatoon berry pie
After picking ‘em on Lake Blackstrap
While the men fished.

Old Archie’s
And metal cars.
Those belonging to one of you...
Or all of you...
All of us.

As it’s passed us
We keep these badges
Like memories
And we’re reminded
Of what holds us
Until we, too
Look to where we’re going:
I guess that’s what you get
When angels raise angels.
(More angels)

I told her one time she was beautiful.
It was at Bud’s wedding.
Later, she donned shimmering red lipstick.
So inconsistent, right?

She’s one of the most beautiful people I’ve known.
I’m so lucky.
I’m so fucking lucky.
Thank you, Grandma.
I love you.

She seemed to show up
When you needed her most
Like a hero.
On a scale of hero to villain
She layeds nowhere in between.

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