The year I was eight, Kate was six and Julie nine.
It was the year Grannie came to tell us she had
Three years to live. Put off by the despair of
others her age she wanted to tap into the verve
she had observed running rampant among us.
At our age, three years was a long time. To us, it
Felt like an extended vacation, with her bags
in that downstairs closet next to the coat rack.
She did not act like it was a vacation. From the
Start she set herself apart. There was a little gazebo
On a shaded knoll on our back lawn next to the
Hawthorn tree. The focus of her day lay in the gazebo.
She made it her home, Inviting one or the other of us
To tea or a hand of gin rummy. Certain times of day
She would pray with her Rosary beads clicking lightly.
After while we began to forget what had brought
Her to our gazebo. Her fears did not provoke tears.
She seemed happiest when we three descended on
Her with our giggles and constant wriggles. Three
Years did pass, as did she. We then began to play
Each day in the gazebo. Using Hawthorn seeds as
Rosary beads, we remembered our dear Grannie.
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