A poem not of grief, But its details

I lost my grandma last week.

And yes by lost, I mean dead. And by last week I mean it was a Thursday morning. I was at my desk, at work. When the text came in. It’s now the following Wednesday.

The time between then and now has involved concert tickets I refused to cancel. Roundtrip flights to from Albuquerque, New Mexico and San Francisco, California. A lot of time spent loitering in the unflattering lobby of a Courtyard Marriott.

“The graveside service will be 1:00 PM Tuesday, unless it snows,” wrote my mom.

Snows?! Was that a joke? No. I looked up the weather forecast for the remote cemetery my gramma was to be buried. May 5, 2026 1:00 PM, 50% chance mixed rain and snow.

Messages back and forth about possibility to move the ceremony to the weekend. Better weather. Better guest turn out. The funeral home couldn’t keep her on ice per se and the wishes were set. No cremation. Not to be embalmed. “Better pack an umbrella,” wrote my mother.