I watch him from a distance,
Moving slower than I’ve ever seen,
And skin,
Nearly translucent,
Is frail like parchment,
And marked with a lifetime,
Of stories to tell.

He is robust no more,
Except in spirit,
Which is as unyielding as it ever was.
And he still tells me of America,
And when he was young and proud.
He is wistful when he thinks of it now,
For he feels hopeless to make a change.

My own memory is filled
With images of him,
And his words,
And his intensity,
That demanded that I succeed.
I once thought that it was for him,
But I didn’t understand
The way that fathers love their sons,
And how it is something that we know,
Rather than something that we say.

And as he moves down the trail today,
Unsteady, from time to time,
He is lost in his thoughts,
Of a lifetime
In rear view.
He is more reflective now,
And happiness is easier to find,
As the intensity wanes,
Into a warm appreciation
Of all that we have.

What a treasure;
Just as he watched me,
I have watched my father grow.
In the passage of time,
I have become more like him,
And oddly,
He too, has become more like me.
It is shared parenting at its best.

And now,
Later in life we are,
And we wonder
What will become of us,
As we move from this life into the next.
Will the pain fade away,
While the memory once again becomes clear?
Will we get to enjoy all of the time missed;
So fleeting is this life,
Together?
Didn’t I choose you,
Or was it the other way around?

Father,
I have high hopes
For heaven,
But my list should be easy for You to fill.
I ask for time
With those I love,
To fish,
And to talk,
And to marvel
At the beauty,
Of our universe
Until the end of time.