A Weepy Couple of Days

So, I had too much vino yesterday. Not that it affects me THAT much. But I wrote this (untitled) poem while under the influence:

 

It’s a never-ending day of tears.

Tomorrow is Father’s Day.

 

I clutch my glass of wine,

Afraid someone will steal it.

 

But I’m alone.

 

The elusive sun beats down on me.

I should have applied sunblock

But today is the second day of summer

As far as temps go,

Surely one day—or two—won’t hurt.

 

I replenish my glass.

The wine soothes my throat

And my soul.

 

I lean back,

Absorbing the sun,

Trying to ignore the empty space.

 

We arranged the chairs last week

Around the bubbling pool,

I moved one away from the spot

Where he used to recline.

 

He loved the sun,

Loved the peace and quiet

That was so elusive his last few months.

 

My eyes can’t help but dart there

As much as I don’t want to see,

But maybe if I look

I’ll see him,

Maybe it’s all a nightmare in my head

And maybe he’s still here.

 

No…

 

I look:

The space is empty.

Yet, if I look and imagine,

I can see him:

His body stretched on the lounger,

His head leaning back

Enjoying the sun and his thoughts—

 

No!

I’m taken to the past

To another sight:

Him in his coffin,

Stretched out,

His head back.

 

It didn’t look like him.

His colour was off,

His neck—

I’ll never forget that neck.

Too thick.

Not him.

 

And his eyes—

No…shouldn’t be closed.

 

I couldn’t cry that day.

I wanted to.

I should have, right?

That was my son in the burnished rented coffin—

Couldn’t buy real. Why?

Not with cremation the next step.

 

No, I couldn’t cry that day

Despite the slideshow of

His past and present.

No future—

But I couldn’t cry.

 

People cried around me.

I was surrounded by tears.

None were mine.

 

I couldn’t even force myself to cry.

Tears were hidden. I had to be strong.

I WAS strong.

 

For that one day.

 

But I should have been weeping

And screaming

And shrieking.

 

He was my son.

I should have cried.

 

I should have draped myself over his casket and never let go.

 

I should have cried.

 

I didn’t.

 

But ever since that day,

I’ve cried.

 

I have to be strong.

But why?

 

I’m not strong.

I’m weak and helpless.

I want my son.

 

Every passing day makes life harder.

There’s little signs.

Not much.

Nothing I believe in.

 

I held my wine glass in the sun today.

The sun blinded me

Despite my sunglasses.

 

I thought I saw a dragonfly.

I thought I saw a sign.

 

No, it was only a mirage:

Him sitting in the recliner.

 

A distant memory.

 

Tomorrow is Father’s Day.

 

I think of him

 

And my father.

 

I think of my mother.

I think of all those who’ve passed.

I can’t stop shedding tears.

+++

I’m sober now (somewhat!). Kidding! I am. I don’t drink as much as I let on. (Or do I? Does it matter?)

So, today is Father’s Day.

On Facebook, I posted “Happy Day” to my son-in-law and my son, along with my deceased son. I do that every year. The three are (my deceased son was) great fathers. The best. I love them all.

my three boys crop

 

My father, too (another post for him). A great man. Not too communicative, but us five kids could always count on him. It’s been twenty-one Father’s Days that he’s been gone. Where have twenty-one years gone?

 

And where have the last three Father’s Days gone without my son here to celebrate? His poor children. I can’t imagine their pain.

So, I’m signing off.

Happy Father’s Day to all the world’s fathers.

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