Grandma sat in the dark of her house,
fingers caressing the worn armrests
of her recliner.
Motionless
in her proud pressed nurse's uniform.
Dignified.
If she spoke just then she'd have said,
"This is the me I always intended to be.
This is the me…"

Despite her stillness, I watched in awe--
my Grandma, eclipsing herself,
becoming herself before me.
The wrinkles in her face, sweet signs
of overcoming.
The slight distance in her eyes,
a celebration of persevering.
Her stillness, a calm confidence,
a meditation before bursting
out.

I watched, wondering why she--
my mother's mother, just two years
into her first career--
chose the midnight shift.

Then Grandma lifted herself from her chair.
"Time to go," she whispered to herself.
"Time to go," my conscience echoed.
And as she stepped out of the dark of her house
my pulse assumed the rhythm
of her footsteps.

She chose the midnight shift.
She chose the midnight shift.

And who shouldn't choose?
And who shouldn't choose?
And who shouldn't--

Time to go.

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