Counting Stars
A poem about the ones who left quietly
I’m uniquely forgettable.
It’s mostly my own doing
And my fear of being seen
But it still stings, if I’m honest.
I’ll probably go like Gram,
Nearly unnoticed, even
After 96 years of life
And a sprawling family tree.
Now a star in the sky,
Invisible to the naked eye.
But we’re still able to feel
the gravity of her life—
Her deftly crafted calligraphy,
And the love she gave us
For the birds of her backyard,
And her freshly picked spearmint.
Perhaps when pneumonia
Takes my last breath
Someone will count heaven’s stars
And see us together, unforgotten.
This poem has been sitting in my drafts folder for well over a year. It felt too close to the chest to share.
There were two things gave me a push to hit “Publish.” First, my grandmother’s birthday was yesterday and she was on my mind. Second, I was recently sick with the flu, and that little virus reminded me of the vapor that I am.
Growing up, I was a pretty sickly kid. I had asthma and a near-death experience when I was around 12. This always left me with the impression that my breaths were limited.
James writes, “What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes” (James 4:15). It’s hard to rightly remember how short this life is. It’s difficult to think that we may be forgotten. But there is One who will always remember.
My dad’s dad, “CV” died when I was in 8th grade, back in 1972, but the memories of time spent at his lake cabin in the summer, are still vivid and visceral. He took me fishing, told stories after dinner, even took me out to the garbage pit to burn the trash! Simple, unheralded moments, forever treasured, thanks for capturing that here!
You can always tell when someone is digging deep enough to hurt. That's the good stuff. Love this one.