Saturday, May 14, 2016

Dreading the day you died, again.

Each year as your birthday approaches,
arrives, and passes I feel thankful. Prepared.
April is full of life and poetry and plans.
Then May appears and the dread sits in.
I count it down, twenty eight, twenty seven
...fifteen, fourteen days until you die again.
The mental preparation takes a back seat
to remembering what I choose to forget
every other day except for May.
Sometimes, I try to paint you as absent anyway.
Other times you are a hero, Superman,
and the funniest person I have ever known.
I make jokes at work that I need attention
because my father never loved me
and I get a good laugh from my heart ache
but we both know how I stood at your wake
and told the story of a man who loved
with all of him but never knew how much
was enough or how to say such a thing.
I love you. 
It really is that simple, Dad. 
I am sorry it was so hard for you.

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