wildscape. literary journal

Nine Perfect Days I Hope You Remember Too
by Tracie Adams

          Grandma forgot your dad’s birthday this year. She has forgotten everyone’s birthday, including her own, so it’s not personal but somehow it cut him deeper than any loss he has ever suffered. There is profound sorrow in the moment when a mother forgets.

          Children, listen to me. “Burn me, scatter me, plant me in clay soil, and still, I will remember you.”

          Four children, five grandchildren, nine days I remember, looking into your eyes for the first time, seeing the whole world reflected back to me in your baby blue gaze. Those days were perfect then, and they will be perfect for eternity. I held you, I saw you, I knew you. 

          Burn me, scatter me, plant me beneath a tree that blooms in spring. Even my ashes will not forget how I rocked you through cold nights and long days we thought would never end.

          Keep these words, hold tight to yesterday, when I made you sandwiches the way you liked it without crust, when I bandaged your skinned knees and broken hearts with my arms around you, when I sat in the audience never taking my eyes off you because you were my shining star. You were the light I awakened to, you were the song whose lyrics I sang in my sleep, you were the fruit that nourished me. 

          Burn me, scatter me, visit me under the weeping cherry tree, and know that you were not forgotten.

about the author // Tracie Adams