This poem reminded me of my grandmother, she truly is something special and I'm so happy for the time I had with her, i will miss her so much!
 And another regrettable thing about death

is the ceasing of your own brand of magic,

which took a whole life to develop and market-

the quips, the witticisms, the slant

adjusted to a few, those loved ones nearest

the lip of the stage, their soft faces blanched

in the footlight glow, their laughter close to tears,

their warm pooled breath in and out with your heartbeat,

their response and your performance twinned.

The jokes over the phone. The memories packed

in the rapid-access file. The whole act.

Who will do it again? That’s it: no one;

imitators and descendants aren’t the same.

- John Updike

Hi Alessandra,
This the best poem I ever read. I miss my grandma too. She was like my mother. I miss you and I really love you grandma.
Thanks Alessandra for sharing this with us.

condolences

Thank you for posting that.  My mom died a little over a year ago, and I don't have anyone in my life who can understand who she was and what she meant; and without that, I feel like no one can understand what it means that she's no longer here. 

We were as close as two people can be, and she's gone. No one - not my husband, not what's left of my family - no one can even begin to comprehend the magnitude of what has been lost.  This poem captures it- she wasn't "perfect" as we commonly define the word, but her existence, in and of itself, was evidence of Perfection. She was utterly unique, completely irreplacable, and she's gone.  And I'm the only one who knows.