My Father

My father
Used to walk
so fast
I had to run to catch
his shadow.
Always one step ahead--
maybe more--
Literally.  Philosophically.
Theologically.

A leader.
A path finder.
A way maker.

All that was years ago.
But then
pain.
Crippling pain.
Pain that slows feet and fight.
Pain that stands him still.
Angry.
Compromised.
Except for his mind.

Now, while I slow my steps for his
syncopated stutter-stepped shuffle
he still outruns my mind--
day and night.

I want to cry out
against this injustice
because it is categorically
not fair--
not part of the plan decades
ago--

But I know that
Life is not fair
nor just.
It marches on
regardless.  Trampling
on plans made in our prime.
So I don't.  Instead
I find solace in
what there is in moments
not days or even hours.
Moments.
I find comfort in the hope he holds on to that
In a moment
In a twinkling of an eye . . .
We will all be changed.

This is another poem that I wrote during the Boothbay Harbor Literacy Retreat I attended in July 2013.  Two years later (4 years ago), my dad passed away after a long struggle with debilitating pain that was difficult to witness.  This poem touches on the only thing that comforts me in this giant loss:  the Hope of seeing him again one day, without the pain that stole him from us.