by Julia Mcconnell

Created on: December 08, 2009

My father died last night 

And I am standing here

Looking at his shrouded body.

Only his face is visible

And a lock of his hair

Lies limp on his forehead.

His lips are parted and I

Can see a sliver of his upper teeth.

I worried about his teeth while

I drove to the hospital this morning.

Had they remembered to put them

Back in this mouth.

After the machines were rolled away?

Those machines that levy violent blows

To hearts that have tired of their work

My father’s heart worked for

76 years, 2 months, and 11 days.

And then, it stopped.

I want to wrap my arms around him

And beg him to stay a little longer

But I am afraid of the silence

That will be my answer.

And so I stand here

Choking on my sadness, uttering, “No,no.”

My father died last night

And I am standing here

Looking at his shrouded body.

Do not make me cry for your attention

Comfort me, tell me this is a bad dream.

Now that we have begun to know each other

Put off your journey. We need more time

He is not a father I would have chosen.

I have no childhood memories of his attention/

No hand in hand walks, no circus’,

No sticky pink cotton candy.  No rainbow

Colored pinwheels. No hugs. No kisses.

No tickling, giggling games.

When did we begin to love?

I know that I was a grown woman..

But what started the loving?

There is a dim recollection

Of standing in your kitchen.

The conversation that precipitated my question

Escapes me, but the question is vivid.

“Tell me Dad, why didn’t you like me?”

When I say the pain on your face,

I was sorry.

But you answered with tears

Spilling out of your eyes.

“I made so many mistakes.”

You put your arms around me

And hugged me.  You really hugged me.

My father died last night

And I am standing here

Looking at his shrouded body.

What will I do on Father’s Day?

Do you remember my calls from Paris or Switzerland?

I cried after those calls.

An ocean of scotch could not have

Filled my emptiness.

But God knows I tried.

I must not dwell on what was.

The patches on our hearts have held.

A slip of paper fell from a book

I was reading last week.

One of your vocabulary lists.

A reminder of the summer you spent with me.

And how incongruous to hear you call

One of your cronies ‘a supercilious son of a bitch’.

You with your fifth grade education.

Did you notice my smile

While you peppered your speech with

Words like: succinct and unctuous?

My house is filled with your paper scraps.

I know they will stare at me

From opened drawers and

Float down to rest at my feet

And my heart will sink down to lie

Next to that part that was you.

My father died last night

And I am standing here

Looking at his shrouded body.

I see your wrinkled brow

And hear your bewildered question, “Why now?”

That was the summer Momma left.

I wanted to cradle and comfort you

But I didn’t know how.

We had learned to love too late,

Our affection was fragile.

A fluttering bird held gently

In our cupped hands.

There you are sprawled across a bench

Searching the harbor for a tug heading

Out to the deep waters.

And in the evenings we talked about

That 14 year old boy who ran from a

Motherless home.  And his love for the sea.

“Now don’t forget,” you said, “I want my ashes

spread on the waters off Martha’s Vineyard.”

I said what people say when they hide

From that inevitable truth.

Your hands are cold and hard now.

I have to make sure this is no mistake.

I’ll take you on your final sea voyage, Dad,

This last thing we will do together.

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