Your memory is a battle between fantasy and fiction.
See the truth is I don’t really know,
all I remember is the photograph’s depiction.
I was only a small child when you got sick.
I was too young to understand,
that you were beginning the burning of your life’s wick.
As you began to get more tired, and ignore my pleas of play.
I tried to question you,
but you simply said not today.
Little did I knew a day would turn into a week,
then a week would turn into a month or two.
You told me everything would be okay, and kissed me upon my cheek.
You did your best to hide the pain,
but I managed to catch a sneak.
On your face wore the lines of strain.
As the years wore on, my heart just continued to break.
I couldn’t stand to just sit there,
I couldn’t see you in pain, it was the one thing I couldn’t take.
Even though I was still young,
I had to come to realize there was nothing I could do.
No matter how much it stung.
As I begin to grow up, I realized one thing.
You wouldn’t be there, anymore.
Not for anything.
Though this hurt more than any other belief,
I knew I must enjoy all the time you had to give to me,
for your time here was brief.
They day you passed I couldn’t believe.
All the pain that destroyed inside me,
I had begun to grieve.
Then I had a single thought.
Even though you knew what would become of you,
You had fought.
To the world I whispered a quiet thank you,
For it had shown me you were once a fighter,
And inside me there lay one too.