Lying in my bed I stare at the ceiling,
although it is too dark to see the ceiling.
I feel pain. I have no pain meds.
Once I had them, but no more.
My Grandma Elvira had Diabetes.
“Not real Diabetes”, said my mother.
She had a blocked pancreas, no insulin.
Real enough to cause pain, to kill.
“She no longer feels joy”, said my mother sadly.
Grandpa John just smiled and brushed her long hair.
Lying in bed I remember: my pain started as a child.
No meds. for Grandma or for me way back then.
insomnia brought you to life for me tonight.
I carry your name and honor your life.
I will remember and practice your elusive joy.