At eight and-a-half
The world was still new
I rejoiced at the snow
And looked forward to school

In April that year
My mother was weathered
By her father dying,
Her Father was dying

My Grandfather,
Who loved feeding birds and squirrels
And building them houses in trees,

Lay in a hospital bed
In far-away Illinois
Drawing his last breath
After a heart attack, then another

A week later I
Had my third sacrament,
my First Holy Communion,
A big Catholic deal

And they all said he was there
An angel watching over,
Protecting me,
From whatever

But all that I felt
Was the weight of his passing,
Memories unmade, and
Never to be made

When I was eight and-a-half
The world lost some shimmer
Yes, I had discovered my God
But I lost my Grandpa