Six hours from now, and two years ago,

My father died.

Lying in peace at last

In the starched linen beds that occupied so much of his past.

While in the moment,

I find all I can do is remember.

Remember the empty thud of his slumped body against the wall

Remember the flashing red lights I know so well

Remember the shaking and twitching of his worn-out, tired form

Remember the last words spoken to the man who raised me.

And remember, that empty feeling of times now gone.

Oh, how bitter it is to remember,

To recall the highlight reel of my darkest days.

Here and now,

I find it hard to push through, to soldier on as he would say.

To honor him once more with my writing on this day.

Now my memories flood my thoughts.

I am conflicted whether to pull in these memories or to push them away.

And I am unsure whether I shake

From the cold winter winds of the night

Or the age old memories I try to fight

Not to destroy or disband you see,

But to understand, to overcome.

To “stick-to-it” as I was so often told.

I close my eyes and I manage a grin,

For sake of those memories that somehow begin

With a smile or a joke,

Or those precious moments spent together now so long ago.

And despite myself, I hear him say,

“Ya done good John, you’ve made it through another day.”

And finally I understand, that of my memories,

I can only say

That they’re what keeps me pushing through,

Even on days like today.

Especially on days like today.