My most excellent mother, Dorothy Rossick Bachand, died last year on Mother's Day. Today, I would like to mark the celebration of her life by presenting a poem, written by her granddaughter Anna Claire Bachand.
On the last day that I saw her, she recognized me. I knew if she could, she’d be smiling. I took her hand. I looked into her eyes and she looked back at me.
On the last day that I saw her, she recognized me.
My phone calls to my grandma always started the same way. “Hello?” “Hi Grandma” “Oh, Hi Anna”
I loved that she recognized my voice without me needing to tell her who I was.
Her voice always became more upbeat after hearing mine:
hopefulness,
heartfulness
and undertones of excitement that always come when something that makes you happy comes into your day unexpectedly.
It made me happy that my call made her happy.
I knew if she could, she would be smiling.
Smiling.
The best smile.
Wide,
sourced in love,
listening, like always.
Smiling, the kind that precedes a chuckle, and then a laugh.
Eyes looking off to the side.
Nose crinkled.
Grinning, she’d laugh.
One of her children would take it too far (usually my Dad or Uncle Phil)
With a smack of her lips,
a little roll of her eyes,
a small protest, “oh, stop it”.
All the while still smiling
still loving,
still amused.
I took her hand.
Her hand that brushed hair, wiped tears, neatened shoes,
signed parent consent forms logged birthday checks and paperwork for the cabin,
put a turkey in the oven instead of turning the last pages of a favorite book,
that set out notebooks and crayons, restocked punch drinks,
filled “secret" glass jars with chocolate kisses,
and made up fluffy white comfy beds for the grandkids.
I looked into her eyes and she looked back at me.
She always looked back at me.
Some people you say things to, and their heart turns away.
Grandma always looked back.
I could mention anything, bring up anything, and she would have a response.
She would have a response because she always listened, and she always cared.
On the last day that I saw her, she recognized me. I knew if she could, she’d be smiling. I took her hand. I looked into her eyes and she looked back at me.
I cuddled up next to her.
held her hand.
put my head on her shoulder.
I thought about all that she was to me.
Someone who enjoyed being with me,
who believed in me?
who challenged me?
who always remembered to tell me how much she loved me,
and I thought about all that she was to our family.
The one arranging everything behind the scenes for us
The central figure in the family, bringing us together,
being a reminder to us of the importance of taking time for family.
As I lay next to her, with the family in the room, I hoped we would have more times like this together.
I stroked her arm to let her know I was there. “I love you, Grandma,” I said.