An Ode to Double G

The string of memories burns my hand,

My 12-year-old self can barely understand.

The balloon is purple, her favorite color,

She is my great-grandmother.

The air in the balloon is filled with every memory I remember,

From family reunions in June to Christmas in December. 

I think about her puzzled face,

Looking at our Christmas cards, and the people her mind is trying to place.

She knows me, but doesn’t remember she does,

And she remembers my grandfather as he was.

But even though she doesn’t really remember me,

I still love her so dearly. 

 I saw her last summer, and I don’t know if I will again,

But I just wish I could have told her then

How much I love her,

And I hope someday that scientists can discover,

A cure to dementia, which makes people forget,

And making people they know just a silhouette.

I love my great-grandma Double G.

She means more than I can say – to me.

And as I still hold tightly onto that balloon string,

I know that you can’t just let go of everything.

So I unzip my backpack and put it inside,

Because even if it makes me cry

Sometimes you can’t forget about people you’ve lost,

Sometimes their memories are more valued than any cost.