A groan of surprise, utmost joy involving language

        a connection to the garden of souls, oh,

                when she entered, they knew she was there.

A note from Heaven, handwritten and stamped,

        surpassing the ordinary, see and feel Love beyond — 

                believing is like touching the hand of God.

Transparency of devotion to touch mind and soul, 

        I sat, stared in silence, I trembled in awe . . .

                Caryl, a client, my Chicago Mom,

                        a smile to follow her to the end of time.

Eternal love on the road in the sky to

        the Swiss Miss in Scottsdale, Arizona,

                who cherished her calls, as far as Europe,

                        where ever she was, to remain in touch

                                until the age of over one hundred and one.

She adored her hair for more than 35 years,

        once a week, every Friday, at 10,

                a know-it-all lady, everyone looked up

                        to see what she’d wear. Unique, 

                                domineering, a bit loud, yet kind.

During an Illinois family visit, a haircut,

        in the park in Glenview Caryl’s idea to sneak out

                in a wheelchair, ignore COVID visitor ban.

                        A faint chill in the air, no sunshine but clouds 

                                 at 98 she did not care — but her hair.

A last call on Friday, June 23rd, a voicemail

        in Zürich, Switzerland, in the middle of night,

                unaware of the 9-hour change of time. 

                        I called back the next day, to explain.

                                18 days before she left — destination — Heaven. 

                                         She’d know my lifelong obsession of number 8.

A mind so clear to send one final momentous sign —

who mailed the note the day after Caryl died,

                 at the Classic Residence, the home for the old?

                          Melancholy surprise delivered by postal mail,

                                 from Heaven — 4 days after I knew she was gone.

A sky full of memories — a handwritten note

        before she passed . . . what words explain 

                a heart of gold  — a love affair beyond hair?

                         I am holding an envelope, a return address,

                                 marked Heaven? . . . knowing how much she cared.

                                         In silence, I weep.