A Poem Inspired by Jean Janzen's "Wild Grapes"
(Click here for text of Janzen's poem.)

Slipping

Grandfather, living in September,
tried to go golfing
with his old trucking buddies,
but it was not the same.
He was too cold
and felt too tired
on the sloping, frostbitten hills.

I had not known death could be
this slow slipping away of person.
He grew so frail, bruised easily,
and slept in his chair all day
where he had once bounced me on his knee
telling me silly stories that sent me into giggles.

We protected him from death as best we could,
scolding him for trying to shovel snow
or haul wood for the fire.
But what is life, if not these things?
He wanted to be useful, himself
until the very end.

Grandfather, taken from us in November
was ready to go home.
I sat in his chair the day after, cold and alone.   
But my grandmother said through tears
“I would not want him back the way he was”
and oh, it is true, but so very hard
to let him go. 

Hope Langeland

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