Four months ago my Dad said goodnight,
But didn't wake up.
Four months ago he slipped away,
Peacefully entering his long house.
The voice of the man who had set the bar
Against which all Fathers will forever be measured,
Would now only be heard
In the silent whispers my mind plays in stereo.
But words of consequence will always
Find a way to hit their mark.
Wisdom knows its purpose.
I had convinced myself that
The warmth of our final resolution
Would fashion a gentle landing.
But truth be told,
Those thoughts so fresh and bold,
Could only shield a heart for so long.
Loss can be felt in so many ways,
Yet every way is consuming,
Taking you to places
Where sadness reigns and rains.
No words of comfort can ever fill
The chasm that absence has created;
And yet their gentleness
Can help you build the bridge
That lifts you above the void.
I have learned to succumb
To the winding road of grief;
To conquer this emotional rollercoaster,
Emerging with the hope
That understanding will fashion healing.
His voice often whispers to me
In silent moments of reflection.
Words of strength and love.
Words that guide and nurture.
Words that drive me forward,
Onward, ever onward,
Until I will face my own setting sun.
