Losing Dad in his sixties was devastating but he left me lessons in love.
|Memories of Dad are fading away,
from color to black and white.
I am an adult, selfish to admit
he is still needed in my life.
In dreams, I see him in his shop,
pencil behind a sweet ear.
Sawdust peppered gray hair.
Old Spice, new wood perfume the air.
I was a pest, craving attention,
Daddy's girl, "Tootsie", he'd grin.
Tug my curls, listen to baseball,
our time to be just me and him.
He began to travel during the week.
Weekends were full for him.
He had yard work, I had dates.
Time together was slim.
I married, had a family.
Only an hour away but worlds apart.
Everyone else needed his touch.
Dad and I lost time for heart to heart.
He didn't whisper a single complaint.
On a ladder, he crumbled to the floor.
Tan skin gone pale, sky blue eyes dull.
Surgery said 'prognosis poor'.
Why did he wait so long?
Was he afraid, did he know?
I always meant to learn more.
My sons need his wisdom to grow.
I was there those last weeks.
The best and worst memories to save.
He and I did wheelchair rounds,
battling pain, short of breath, soldier brave.
When Dad stopped breathing,
it was well earned rest.
Memories of furniture built, looks of pride,
my sons' blue eyes; I feel blessed.
By Kathie Stehr