I wonder if you understand
why my voice is low and broken,
why we tiptoe through the house,
what hangs in the air, unspoken,
why we softly shut a door,
close the kitchen drawers more slow,
and like a final offering
place the breakfast in your bowl.
Why the boy and young girl pause
just before they leave for school
and look behind for one last glimpse
to memorize the sight of you.
There’s something quiet as a prayer
that settles in around this place
while we smooth your weary head,
while we stroke your snow-white face.
These moments are so full of love
that nothing else fits in this space
but being here along with you,
remembering a life of grace.