To Be Aware Of Grief Is...

In life's procession, I've been to two,

Funerals solemn, tales both old and new.

At six, a haze, I, unaware,

In a poofy dress, a moment to bear.

A gathering vast, on grandparent's land,

A memory vague, like drifting sand.

A lady's grasp, a room of tears,

As a child, the weight, it seldom nears.

The years passed, the truth unveiled,

Grandfather gone, the tale regaled.

A church in chorus, grief's symphony,

A mother's wail, a painful memory.

Fourteen years hence, another scene,

Awareness sharp, the air serene.

To bury my father, a solemn quest,

Dressed in white, at life's behest.

No casket in sight, a preacher's voice,

Celebrating life, a collective choice.

Fifty-nine, he left our sphere,

In a box not seen, emotions clear.

Eldest daughter, a stoic role,

In a Nigerian home, a steadfast soul.

Not a tear shed on that fateful day,

A rock for others, emotions at bay.

Hopeful that he, in the beyond,

Feels pride, approval, in love we respond.

Alone in my room, when guests depart,

The facade crumbles, a broken heart.