It must have been late autumn,
though I was too young, so I can't be sure.
And while most would remember a grown man cry,
I only recall the lack of tears.
It must have been late autumn,
or else why the demand for firewood,
and the repeated chop of the axe?
Until it missed.
Down to the bone, possibly a scream,
but no tears...
"Why aren't you crying, Daddy? Doesn't it hurt?"
I remember considering him the strongest man this world has to offer.
And it could be true in a physical sense.
But its not really about the body, is it?

Now I don't remember the season, but I remember the pain.
Of course, not his pain; but ours.
They left the night before for the operating room.
And left us to be alone that morning.
It's not often you sense the love between endlessly quarreling brother and sister.
But it's there. And it surfaced.
And its not often you see a grown man cry.
But the tears are there. And they surfaced.
The fear of losing a brother; a son.
Not someone else, not another soul to leave him:
I could hear his pleas beyond his rambling words.
So it's not really about the body, is it..?

It happened almost 12 years prior,
but photos seem to bring back everything, don't they?
And as I flipped through the pages of that tattered album,
I pointed out one to him.
But his eyes focused on a different picture entirely.
Only a few memories of that man reside in the corners of my mind.
But there he was, with me in his arms,
smiling as if he could never be sad.
But a family holds its secrets, and he became the biggest one.
Why are you crying, Daddy? Does it still hurt?
After all of these years - of course.
It's the memories, the soul, the breaking heart.
Its the love, and the love that was taken away, and the family.
And I believe this was the silent lesson I learned through a grown man's tears.
That it's not really about the body.