Thursday, September 22, 2011

I Try

Dad, on Lookout Mountain

When I read the reports and heard the talk,
The prognosis and the circumstances gray,
An exception, a miracle, a reward for our fight
I thought surely would come our way.

Even as you put so much effort into
Eating, and talking, just holding on,
Even as your body bore the brunt,
The thought of you going seemed so wrong.

You told me once that it’s possible
That tears could run out in supply.
I know now that cannot be true
And that my pillow will never be dry.

And now, so many days, hours, months later,
The knowledge that it happened settles in my brain,
In spite of the confusion, rage, and sorrow,
The devastation and most of all the pain.

If you wonder, if you have a trace of the thought
That any of you may be forgotten or gone
Or your impact lessened by the hastening of your departure,
This is one time I have to tell you you’re wrong.

I miss so much the way we were;
I miss you every minute of every day.
I try to be tough so I’ll make you proud,
But I just don’t know how to be ok.

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