My father died twenty years ago today. I don’t have too much to say, actually, but I will share this. When I was in college, I took a creative writing course. We had to submit a collection of poems. Now, poems are certainly not my strength, so I waited until the last minute to write any of them; in fact, looking at the date on the file, I think I wrote them the night before they were due. And I’ve only shared a couple of them (reluctantly) with my family. But I’m going to post the one I wrote about my father here. Why? Because it’s not too bad; it’s decent, anyway. And I think it sums up a lot of what I feel about my dad and what I’ll be thinking about today.

Daddy_and_me.jpg
Daddy and me, circa 1982

DADDY

Why were you taken from me?
I was so young—
so were you.

We never got to do all the things other fathers and daughters do—
I never got too old to fit in your lap,
never fought about a date,
never will dance together at my wedding.

Hardly any memories remain,
and no chance to make new ones.

I tell people what you were like,
but I’m a liar—
because I never really knew you.
so how can I pretend I did?

You’ll never get to know the person I’ve become—
or will you?
Are you watching over me?
Do I even believe that you can?

I still love you, Daddy—
and when I look at photos,
I see you looking back at me,
and I smile—
because my face resembles yours.
Maybe I do know you after all.