Jason Ridpath's poem reads like a speaker talking to someone they have lost, most likely a grandparent, since the "family" was created "with Nan" and the lessons passed to children and grandchildren. The poem suggests the loss is about five years old ("Half a decade"), and it circles back to one painful image: "Our last memory in the car." The line "You're always on my arm" opens and closes the poem, as if the person is still physically there.
The feelings are mixed but settle on gratitude. The speaker admits to being sometimes happy and sometimes sad, then says, "Most of all, I'm glad." Memories arrive unexpectedly, bringing goosebumps. The short, plain lines, like a list of values (openness, laughter, forgiveness, few regrets), feel like a quiet promise to pass them on. The mood is tender and reflective, with a small shadow left at the end: "Sometimes my mind will stall," as grief briefly interrupts.