Gram’s Highest Calling
I hadn’t seen Gram at her normal function of serving since those days when I often joined her for her lemon pie. Not because she made it best, but because she needed me to receive it. Her God-given role of serving was dismissed when Gramps passed the nicer way; ‘Goodbye,” he’d whispered, then departed.
Time to let her go, service to others fulfilled. Her release not comforted with him at her side. She’d served her mission the best she could.
Mother phoned this morning. I heard the message in the ring. “She’s gone. It’s all done, but not all said.”
From Guest Contributor The Poet SPIEL
Established communicator of the arts, 81-year-old internationally published queer author/artist, storyteller, The Poet Spiel, writes of social conflict, satire noir, and personal hurdles.
Please support the site by purchasing one of my books on Amazon. Check out Quitting The Grave, a murder mystery set on the Oregon Trail. Plus, don't forget my other books: They Both Loved Vonnegut, Ahab's Adventures in Wonderland, and Picasso Painted Dinosaurs.