My father once held me in his arms,
a small baby.
Surely THEN, he didn't regret having me!
Times before birth, and long after my birth,
he did.
Money wasn't plentiful.
Time wasn't his own.
He grew into me like that pair of tight new shoes,
worn and softened...
Soon his favorite shoes with holes in the right places.
Becoming a part of him, as I became a comfort in his life.
Back and forth through life,
and all its changes.
I lost him for awhile,
and he lost me.
The thread between us remains forever.
Always he was, and is there for me,
even after his death-his spirit comforts me.
There's nothing like the bond between child and parent.
Emotions are so sweet, and slicing all at once.
"How do you miss me? I am right here!" he said to me.
I believe you daddy, even two years after your death.
You're the only one of the two of us
who has been to the other side in THIS lifetime.
But it's so hard not to see you,
hold your hand,
hear your voice,
hug you tight.
A living breathing person,
THAT's the part I miss.
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