I only have three memories of my grandfather.
The family was fighting:
something stupid about my aunt's boyfriend.

I wasn't even in kindergarten
and didn’t understand why Grandpa was bleeding
that Grandma threw more than kisses,
"He's a wonderful young man,"
she would say.
"Our daughter is dating a prick."

Turns out Grandpa was right.
He abandoned her
and wouldn't even claim his youngest child.
At least we got to spend Christmas together.

All the aunts and uncles were there,
My cousin, brother, and I
insisted on turning down all the lights,
not for the Christmas tree,
but to tell our elaborate ghost story.
Grandpa sat in his overstuffed chair
and smiled at his grandkids.
Only you stop smiling when you're dead.

"The children are seeing their grandfather,"
I heard my parents say.
What a stuffy sterile fluorescent room.
It's not Sunday.
Why is the priest here?

Why couldn't the other cousins come?
My aunt just told me
they're too young to understand death.
I didn't understand why everyone was crying.