I feel your pressed hand upon my shoulder,

I don’t have you, yet I must get older.

Since you have left this land, I must be bolder.

What shall I do with my new child and new life?

On the eve of the end of our strife,

my valued father is gone.

We thought we had twenty more years with you.

The room is quiet, weight sinking, I feel blue—

can anything here ever lift my bleak review?

We fought, we talked, you guided me through,

but I still had so many vital questions to ask—

so many stories to hear of your past.

(I was still young), our time did not last.

Older now . . . even than you,

would you be proud

of what I have made it through?

You’re a grandfather. I wish you knew.

I am still a tempestuous man from time to time.

It must be hardwired, it’s helped on the land.

I think it is tied to my high tolerance of pain—

so, I like to believe it helped

as a genetic, loving, keep-on-living gift,

I carry from you.

I wonder now, what unfinished business

you felt you had left,

a life for some,

just over half met.

While my race is further along,

there are always some things left to do,

I suppose fewer now,

but I am older now than you.

I like to think you were as content then as I am now.

I am so happy to know I was wrong

when I thought our time would not last,

since love, rich memories, and discovered stories

kept you alive somehow

and helped me hold to you,

not just staying in the past,

but moving both steadily forward

and caringly through.