Dear Gamps

CATEGORY

life

 Dear Gamps,

I remember you
in your grey sweatshirt
with my picture on the front
and the words my angel underneath it.
Ironic,
the same words you would use to describe me at birth
would be the same words I would use to describe you at death.

They remember you
in the same grey sweatshirt
but they envision white letters stiched underneath my picture
that read
I am human
I am not perfect
I have flaws
but I’m beautiful.
They remember you
the loud-mouth, cussing, drinking, smoking
denture and wig-wearing
mirrors image of beauty.

I remember laying on the couch
watching your favorite movie
and to this day I've yet to figure out what love has to do with it.
I remember when you taught your son a lesson on humility
you also taught me a lesson on acceptance.
You told his homeless friend
"go in the refrigerator, grab whatever you would like,
and make yourself at home you have a place to stay tonight"
because you didn't want him to end up another street statistic
and its ironic that you yourself would end up another tobacco statistic.

I was 14 years old
you could hardly speak
but you whispered to my mother
"no matter what the doctors tell you
go ahead and deliver
I'll be here when my grandson gets here"
and a few weeks after he was born
before he was old enough to swallow solid food by himself
we flew him on a plane to come see you.
You couldn't walk or breath on your own
you weren't wearing your dentures
and your hair had fell out months ago
and with a band-aid on your cheek
and as weak as you were
you amazed me by how strong you were
to still find a way to smoke.

I remember my last time seeing you
eyes closed resting in your casket bed
and I reflect on your last words to me before you left
"I'll always be here for you
I'll be up in the clouds, proud"
and I wonder now when you look down
do you still smile?
I was 18 years old when I got my first tattoo
it’s the rose of death
and it reads "R.I.P. Gamps" in the middle.
I promised you that day I would never smoke a cigerette
I am 21 years old and I have never ever smoked a cigerette!
and as I reflect the pieces to the puzzle fit together
and the picture is clear
your grey sweatshirt was not a Sunday afternoon attire
it was your monument
and it told your story better than any obituary or tombstone could have depicted you.
and if I came across that sweatshirt today I'm sure as day
it would still have my picture on the front
and in white letter engraved underneath
"I am human!
I am not perfect!
I have flaws!
But I'm beautiful!"

Love always,
Your Angel

©Paris “Chi” Butler, “Dear Gamps”. 2012.