I remember,
every Christmas you got tissues.
I remember,
your cooking,
you always sleeping.
But it feels like there should be more,
why isn't there more.
I am pushing myself to remember,
your smile,
the one you never wore.
I am trying to remember a time before the hospital beds,
I am trying to forget that you are the one who made me believe.
I am trying to remember my papa,
the one that never lost his humor,
the one that made everyone smile,
even when you knew you weren't going to make it.
I remember the call,
my step mom at the table,
"Papa passed last night"
I don't want to remember that.
I don't want to remember how I lost faith.
I want to be able to open my Christmas card,
and instead of a dollar from heaven,
I'll have a hess truck wrapped up,
and I'll be able to open it and smile at you,
instead of the clouds.
Please never let me forget you.