I look at your tombstone

And wonder if you

Can hear your grandchild,

Who you barely knew?

The family reminisces about you with love,

But I don’t remember.

The beauty of you is what they remember.

All I have of you is the name on the tombstone.

The way my family speaks of you proves their love.

They always say I would have loved to be near you.

My family each tell of different versions of  the you they knew.

Would you have enjoyed spending time with the storyless grandchild?