She doesn’t want to stand at attention by his grave, by these stones,

by the pacifier and pop-up toy.

She wants to listen to him cooing in her arms.

See him smile

Watch him learn to crawl, to walk.

She wants to watch him eat solids

Teach him to potty train, to ride a bike, to swim.

She wants to watch him tentatively start first grade, and then flourish.

 

He doesn’t want to stand at attention by her grave, by these stones,

by the first grade report card

and the scribbled notes from her young friends.

He wants to plan playdates for her and hear about her friends.

Watch her climb trees, giggle in her room with her girlfriends,

dance off beat to the latest music.

He wants to help her plan her bat mitzvah, think about dresses and shoes,

decide on a hair style.

 

She doesn’t want to stand at attention by his grave, by these stones,

by the Golani flag, the beer bottle, the wedding invitations

and the family collage.

She wants to meet his new girlfriend and hear that excitement in his voice.

She wants to see that joyous picture on WhatsApp of his smiling faces,

of the ring.

Plan his engagement party and dance him to the chuppah.

She wants to hold her first grandchild and whisper her love in their ear.

Watch him turn into the man he’s meant to be as a father.

Laugh as he laughs and cry as he and his new family do.

 

He doesn’t want to stand at attention by his grave, by these stones,

by the Duvdevan flag, by his own son’s bar mitzvah invitation,

the large family picture, the notes from coworkers and patients.

He wants to hear his son’s joy as he talks about his own children.

He wants to be with the family for Pesach, to travel together in the summer,

to hike and swim with the grandchildren in joy.

He wants to come to the warm, overflowing home for a silly afternoon of fun.

To babysit and laugh, to watch the grandchildren grow in the son’s image.

He want to bask in the grown son’s accomplishments, to see the person he’s become.

 

They don’t want to stand at attention by her grave, by these stones,

by their own notes of longing for their grandmother,

by the picture of so many generations, by the recipe note for chicken soup.

They want to sit at her feet and soak in her knowledge.

Hear about the trauma she endured in her youth to make it to

the Promised Land.

Hear about her victory over adversity.

They want to be part of the home overflowing with grandchildren,

To sit at the table and eat that famous chicken soup.

 

They don’t want to stand at attention by any of these graves.

They want to stand by their loved one’s side holding hands.

They don’t want to stand at attention by any of these graves.

But it’s all that they have left now.

And they will stand with the memories of what they had

And with the memories of what they didn’t have the chance to have.

And they will love the person that was and the person that didn’t get to be.

Forever.