Elisabeth Louisa (Striemer) Koll 

 You were the love of my childhood

The protector of my dreams

The hand that steadied me

The arms that held me

The voice that soothed me

The smile that encouraged me

And the heart that loved me

To abandon

You stroked my back with long fingernails

Sending tingly-tickly showers down my spine

You spread butter, quark and thick plum syrup on bread

Telling me the layers represented the houses I would own

You took me to church

Had me blessed by all the nuns

That came from their hospital dorm

To celebrate holy mass every Sunday

Each one of them

There were many

They were always so kind

To this day, I love catholic nuns

And I ask them to bless my children

Even though I left the church decades ago

You came to me in a dream

After so many strokes

After my mum’s call

I knew you would never wake up again

I was living far away

Across the waters

In the UK

And we sat on a train together

An old-fashioned one

When you tried to climb out of the window

Standing on your seat

After we had talked and laughed together

I begged you not to go into the light

I couldn’t let you go

When you asked why

I said I needed to say goodbye

“But you just did,” you reminded me gently.

I argued I needed to be there in person.

So you stayed for weeks of suffering

While I slept beside your bed

Taking care of you

Watching you dry up slowly

From inside

I talked a lot

Told you all the things

I hadn’t been able to before

For years

Because your stroke-ridden mind

Had not been able to process

You had talked on top of me

Interrupted me

And young as I was

I resented this

Even though I knew

You were out of your mind

I resented you not being there for me

In the way you had been in my childhood

But you never stopped loving me

Even when I came to visit from London once

You said: “I don’t know who you are,

But I know, I love you.”

Our bond was that strong!

I told you all the things

I had wanted to tell you before

While I held your hand

So gently because the slightest pressure hurt you

& made you start puffing

I touched you very lightly only

Gave you painkillers and cotton buds soaked in water

In a futile attempt to get some liquid into you

My livingroom is the room you died in

In the house you were born in

I wasn’t there

My cousin Max wasn’t there

We had stayed for so many weeks

Then gone home to London and Berlin

To take care of a few things

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