I want to go home

A poem my grandmother liked while she was alive.

Goodbye my friends; don’t grieve for me.
I’m following the path God laid for me.

I took his hand when I heard his call.
I turned my back, and I left it all.

I could not stay another day
to laugh, to love, to work or play.
Tasks left undone must stay that way.

I’ve found that peace at the close of day.

If my parting has left a void
Then fill it with remembered joy.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss—

ah yes, these things I too will miss.

Be not burdened with times of sorrow.
I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow.
My life’s been full; I savored much:

Good friends, good times, a loved one’s touch.

Perhaps my time seemed all too brief.
Don’t lengthen it now with undue grief.
Lift up your heart, and share with me.
God wanted me now; He set me free.

A poem written by my sister during a visit a few months before my grandmother's passing.

"I want to go home,"
says my grandmother.

She is 99 years old.
99 years and 5 months
and 28 days.

These are the first
words spoken in two hours
as she travels
the only way she can—
in and out of dreams.

My throat hurts
by not saying the words
"this is your home."

There is no place
in this echo chamber of silence
for words that are true
and still lies
in too many ways.

Her head rolls slowly forward.
Asleep again,
she is closer
to home, so I smile.
And the smile hurts, too.

—Amy Heather Rose, née Boling

Marcia Hurn Boling, née Smith

March 31, 1920–September 28, 2019