Four Years
I don't know where I'd begin if the chance arose. Perhaps an introduction to my son, whom he met, but brain cancer kept him from knowing. Then my beautiful little girl who makes me cry with a smile. He'd smile at her, it's impossible not to, mop of blonde curls surrounding her chubby cheeks, surrounding that smile, and a quick glimpse of heaven. He'd love them, truly.
Part of me knows he's smiling on us, watching them grow and laying a caring hand on their shoulders, but most of me still curses the heartbreak and the broken dreams and open-ended life created by his death.
It's been four years and all I have are questions. How are you? Am I doing okay as a man, as a husband and most importantly, as a father? What's it like wherever you are?....Will you stay? Just a minute longer?
No answers and never will be. Instead, the hope a life I've chosen isn't one reflected upon in regret and one which mixes the heartbreak of missed moments with the fulfillment of a life's work, whatever indistinguishable accomplishment that might be or become. Of hope my children know I love them unconditionally, the way I knew with him. Of hope they know they're perfect in whatever they may become if their best is the fruit of labor, love, faith and determination. Of hope they embrace the undying support I knew and attempt to pass on.
Friends tell me they've had the dream. One where they return, spend moments beside one another, laughing, crying and talking. That dream always ends in heartbreak. I'm not certain I want that. His absence now is almost too much at times. An aberration or the teasing of a fulfilled wish could break me in two.
Seems like yesterday. An open wound to remain as such.
Part of me knows he's smiling on us, watching them grow and laying a caring hand on their shoulders, but most of me still curses the heartbreak and the broken dreams and open-ended life created by his death.
It's been four years and all I have are questions. How are you? Am I doing okay as a man, as a husband and most importantly, as a father? What's it like wherever you are?....Will you stay? Just a minute longer?
No answers and never will be. Instead, the hope a life I've chosen isn't one reflected upon in regret and one which mixes the heartbreak of missed moments with the fulfillment of a life's work, whatever indistinguishable accomplishment that might be or become. Of hope my children know I love them unconditionally, the way I knew with him. Of hope they know they're perfect in whatever they may become if their best is the fruit of labor, love, faith and determination. Of hope they embrace the undying support I knew and attempt to pass on.
Friends tell me they've had the dream. One where they return, spend moments beside one another, laughing, crying and talking. That dream always ends in heartbreak. I'm not certain I want that. His absence now is almost too much at times. An aberration or the teasing of a fulfilled wish could break me in two.
Seems like yesterday. An open wound to remain as such.
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