Anniversaries (November 10, 2018)

From the safety

Of time and distance

I write these words.

In honour and respect

To those people

(Men and women)

Who paid ultimate price

For our rights and freedoms.

Lesson taught

By my immigrant father.

Young Dutch child

Under Nazi occupation

Week prior to 9th birthday

He was liberated

(May 5, 1945).

This Sunday

Centennial anniversary

Of World War I armistice

And the twentieth

Since his death.

Whenever possible

He watched them

Marching to local cenotaph

Veterans and young children

In solemn parade.

Whether or not

My brother and I

Were involved.

As if

Keeping silent vow made

Many years ago

In another country

When a child.

Thanking

Those anonymous men

Who wore Canada

On their uniform

With pride and dignity.

From his failing hands

The torch is passed

Into mine

Still lit.

Continuing the remembrance

Of ultimate selfless sacrifice

These men and women

Have gave us.

Therisa © 2018

Author’s note: Tomorrow, November 15, 2018, will mark the 20th anniversary of the my dad’s death from brain damage, caused by a fatal heart attack on a Friday the 13rd, in 1998. My dad survived almost 36 hours after all live support equipment was removed from him, per his wishes. My dad was many things to me, the least of all, an enigma, who kept his inner feeling about his love ones, to himself. Despite of this, he was the emotional pillar that kept me going, during times of emotional distress and sorrow. Thank you, dad.

For those, who don't know me, November 10-20th, is the hardest emotional period of the year, which my chronic depression is, at its zenith. As I battle SAD, on top of this. As many people have noticed the dramatic decline in poetic output on my part.

November 13-15, 1998 (March 30, 2016)

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.