Please Remember

"Please remember 

the milk 

from the store," 

that's what the note says. 

But it doesn't matter anyway 

because his mind, his memory, stays sharp as a tack. 

He doesn't bring the note with him to the store. 

He knows he'll remember. 

"Please remember 

what you're in here for," 

he mutters to himself frustratedly. 

He doesn't remember why he walked into this room. 

Oh, that's right. 

He grabs the book from the shelf and is on his way. 

It took him but a moment to remember. 

"Please remember 

your grandson's game this weekend," 

his wife urges. 

Oh, yes. 

He is so very excited to see his grandson Declan play basketball. 

He thanks his wife for helping him remember. 

Please remember, 

her mind whispers as she listens to her grandpa talk, 

Please remember that you've told me this story already, 

once, 

twice, 

three times, 

but at least he remembers the story at all. 

Please remember

that the milk goes in the fridge.

Not under the desk for a month, where it sits until your granddaughter finds it all curdled.

She throws it out.

Grandpa, her heart whispers, Why didn't you remember?

Please remember

that you can't yell at your wife to "just make spagetti,"

she's keto now, remember? 

Can't you take care of her like she's done for you for fifty years?

Please remember

that 

your wife

has cancer

that she can't eat

won't eat

through her pain

Don't you remember that she's dying?

Please remember,

his granddaughter types on her laptop, part poetry and part prayer,

Please remember me, grandpa.

Please remember to take me out driving, like you promise me each time I see you.

Please remember that I didn't get that job, it's okay to stop asking what I'll be doing this summer.

Please remember that I'm a freshman, not a junior, and not an 8th grader.

Please remember that I grew up playing Dora the explorer on your farm with you.

Please remember how you showed me old pictures of my mother, how you always called her "Love Bug," or just "Bug" even when she was far too old for it.

Please remember our "crunchy-munchies," the special name we had for eating cereal without milk while watching cartoons.

Please remember the way you used to have me guess movies, the way you'd always finish with the Wizard of Oz. Please remember the way you'd flick my brown hair and call me your Dorothy, just like the movies. 

Please remember the way you used to sit me on the counter all those years ago, and take my hand in yours and run is across the stubble on your cheek. Please remember the way I'd whisper, "whiskers," and you'd laugh and I'd smile. 

Please remember the way you used to smack the table, then your forehead, after a home-cooked meal and say, "Dee-licious!" so loud the whole family would join in after you, the way we'd laugh together. Please remember the way we tried to teach our little tradition to your younger grandkids, but they would only ever smack their forehead. 

Please remember our "viewing room" at the old house, the white room with the massive window where you and I would go and sit alone for hours, either silent or talking, but it didn't matter because it was just us. Please remember the stories you'd tell and theones you never got to yet, but I pray that you'll get the chance. 

Please, Grandpa.

Please remember.

Please

remember

me.