My daughter – your Wham-bam! granddaughter – has become an almost-stranger with her Bif-boom! attitudes and Kerpow! moods. The distance between us is s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g elastic-thin wide the older she grows. My calm words and sensible attitudes Rip-Roaringly! rile her.
She reminds me of me. When my tempers Kerranged! family meals. When I shouted ‘Splat!’ against your politics. When my views were a Whomp! Whomp! to your senses. When I called you in the middle of the night drunk and troubled, and you picked me up in the car; when you picked me up from my boyfriend’s house after a humdinger, flailing-fist fight; when your spidey senses detected I was trapped in Thwapping! deep low moods and you used your powers as a pick-me-up.
The almost-stranger comes and sits next to me on the pew, her Holy Mackerel! dress sense out in full Technicolor™ force.
We stare at your casket. We contemplate. Her hand enfolds mine.
Kaboom!
She may not speak love but I hear it. And I hope throughout my Krassh! teenage years you, my Wow! Superhero, heard mine too.
Comments