As I eluded to in my last blog post, I’ve spent some time over
that last few weeks putting together a poem that is meant to speak directly to
my dad on his first birthday. You may
not understand all of it but I decided to post it anyway because I think enough
of you who read my blog know most of the details with him. I just wanted to do something that would
honor him and also tell him some of my deepest feelings. Don’t waste your time trying to figure out
the rhyme scheme… there is none. I
wanted to be able to write freely without a restriction on what words I could
use to illustrate my heart. Speaking of
no restrictions, I tended to get a little random at times but that’s usually
how memories work, isn’t it? Anyways,
here it is:
Hey Pop, I know there’s no time in
eternity
But down here, it’s been a full year since we lost you.
I paid attention to your example, you know,
And my life was forever changed because of it.
I still listen to your goodbye letter
to us
And still, I can never seem to fight back the tears.
The best part is when you finished with, “I love you�
Because that will always be there for me to hear.
I hate to think what that last month
was like for you–
Frustrated, scared, confused and weaker by the day.
That’s why it’s so great to hear your voice from before.
You were strong then–still the father I remember.
Your bucket list is something I won’t
forget, either.
Rest easy, Pop, you taught us a great last lesson.
I just wish we had the urgency to write it
Before we saw that tragic ending on its way.
It’s OK that you weren’t at my
graduation.
You made me that promise before you went downhill.
I still felt you there congratulating me…
Which is maybe why I cried so hard with Shannon.
Though I have mostly smiles of our last
months with you,
Reliving those two times I found you still gets me.
My greatest honor was being there for you, Dad,
But my heart breaks to think what that was like for you.
I know what you would say to this,
being your son,
But I wish I would’ve done so much more for you.
I hate that my class schedule dictated our time.
I know dropping out would have stressed you out more, though.
I wish I had more time with you–less
with all else.
My priorities were so backwards before then.
A resume isn’t worth the paper it’s on
Compared to the importance of loving family.
When God came for you, I should’ve been
at your side
But I admit–what I knew was coming scared me.
I felt so alone in that room New Year’s Morning.
That bed had your body in it, sure, but not you.
I think you waited ‘til we were
upstairs to go.
You couldn’t even let your death be about you!
To hear your first thought was us when given your fate
Is one more example of love I will follow.
Your love for us was as strong as it
was gentle.
It was endless because you got it from our Source.
You knew God created love to be like water–
Bountiful, endless, free and the root of our lives.
I still have some trouble accepting
what happened.
Somehow, the pain seems distant from way over here.
Truth is, though, I’m here because of what you gave us–
A passion for the Lord and sharing His water.
I don’t want to stop making you proud
of me, Pop!
As different as I am now, I am still your son.
You always said, “Take it to the Lord,� when we talked
So tell Him that He’ll keep hearing from me often.
I wish you could see the impact you’ve
had on me–
More to see your reaction since I know you’re here.
In being there, I learned what should mean most in life.
I wish I learned that way before we lost you, though.
Your legacy is not of a cancer victim.
We remember you for the things you really were:
Painter, handyman, cook, father…a huge lover.
That’s what we think of you, Pop–and so will our kids!
So enjoy your head start on eternity,
Pop.
You’re already building a patio, aren’t you?
Knowing you’re watching over me keeps me focused
On how blessed I was to have you as a father.
I love you dad–with and for everything
I have.
I’m proud of your spirit and honored to be yours.
It’s never a goodbye–only see you later.
‘Til then, I’ll feel your presence and you’ll hear my voice.
