Never
Shall I forget
That last weekend
Of your life
With me.
Of holding
Your clammy hand
Within mine
That one last time.
Gone is
The rock
That anchored
Throughout
Those depressive storms.
Never more
Shall your voice
Reach me
Over the telephone
In my time
Of need.
As darkness
Surrounds me
In its strangling web
Over my soul.
Gone is
The rock
That anchored
Throughout
Those depressive storms.
Knowing
Never was
Your favourite child.
Whom
You cried yourself
To sleep over
Dad.
Therisa © 2016
Author's note: Over the Labour Day weekend of 1998, I helped my parents, to clean up, the inhuman mess that my younger brother had created, in his basement apartment unit. For everything reeked of human waste, as we piled up, the garbage bags, several high. As my dad cried, at the destroyed antique red maple bed set, he had restored, for him. My parents left, with heavy hearts and piles of soiled clothing, which took multiple washings, to get rid of the smell.
For every night, until November 13th, my dad cried himself, to sleep, repeating my brother's name. On that fateful Friday morning, my dad had his last heart attack, as he prepared, to get dressed, for the long car ride, to University Hospital, in London, Ontario, for an appointment, with a heart specialist. One, he never made.
Paramedics tried, in vain, to revive my unconscious dad, but their efforts, were too late. For too long, his brain had been without oxygen, and only machines kept him, alive, which we removed, as per his wishes. And yet, his body survived, almost 36 hours later, before the last breathe, at 9:50 pm, on Sunday, November 15, 1998.
Thus, marking my seven years of my mom's attempting to make me, into a clone, of my dad. As I had to submerge my own grieving process, to become, the "man" around the house. Even though, I lived a 3 hour drive away, from her, and had my own life, to live. As I sunk even deeper, into depression and resentment, towards her. As I worked long hours, so I didn't have to face her, every weekend.
I ask, anyone who reads this, doesn't leave any comments, as I won't be approving them, rather, be deleting them. This is, as far as, I feel comfortable, in sharing, this private moment, in my personal life.
