today,
i did what he would’ve wanted.
i carried on.
i said my hellos,
shook hands with both new bodies
and the lingering sadness inside me,
i went about my day.
because he was never about dramatics.
he always said he never wanted -
never needed -
anything.
he had all he wanted and more.
so much more,
i got a house and garage full
of all he wanted.
to him, they were tools.
important,
useful.
to me, they are memories
of a man
who never got to see
those tools full potential.
his kid’s full potential.
i try not to cry about it often.
because the tears aren’t something
he would’ve wanted.
and he would’ve told me that, too.
my dad was a vintage Swiss Army Knife.
old fashioned, got red in the face easy,
and had all kinds of quirks to him.
i miss his laugh.
i miss his harmonica playing
“you are my sunshine” nine times a day.
my dad never learned lyrics to songs,
because his versions were the truth.
he sang all the time.
he danced just as often.
his body owned no rhythm,
but his bones were too joyful
to stand still.
until they could no longer
remember whose body they belonged to.
dementia is cruel like that.
it only takes the mind
of the one it infects.
i am plagued to remember
all that was,
and recognize all that never will be.
i am haunted by memories
and fantasies of futures
i will never get to grasp.
tears hold the saltiness
of two years past,
but five years of slow decline.
do you know what it feels like
to grow up knowing
your father wouldn’t be around
to see your wedding day?
your college graduation?
to be a grandfather?
i was faced with the reality
of a decline no one could halt
at the age of seventeen,
i was not a dancing queen.
i was terrified.
i was angry.
but my father,
he never asked for much.
i think growing up post Depression
does that to a kid.
my dad was an accidental draft dodger,
coal miner, boy scout master,
milkman, baseball lover,
airport maintenance extraordinaire.
he only knew one song on the piano.
i have spent everyday since his death
trying to remember that tune.
it’s embedded in my flesh,
thrumming in my heart,
but it never plays itself on
black and white keys.
it’s simply a part of me now.
today,
i only cried once.
as thumbs tap this poem to fruition.
i think he’d be okay with that.
my dad liked having justifications
for things.
there was a study done,
where by the time you are eighteen,
you’ve spent 90% of your time
with your parents that you’ll ever have.
my dad died when i was twenty.
i got more than i deserved,
but less than i wanted.
life can be unfair like that.
“life is what you make it,”
he told me this everyday.
it’s a part of my attitude,
it’s a deep seeded joy in my bones.
today,
i had life carry on like normal.
i think that’s exactly how
he would’ve wanted it.
to let the tears fall in the car,
or in bed,
but don’t waste the day.
there’s things to be done.
and i did it.
i wonder how you would feel, dad.
seeing where i am,
how i am,
who i am.
happy Father’s Day.
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