A poem of a deceased father visiting his mourning child on Father's day. |
This day is the hardest day, This day and his birthday. “What do I get him?” It would rack my brain. Always procrastinating up until The day before Father’s day. I’d storm through the stores. Searching for that unique gift Until always I’d give up, Giving the clichéd boxed candies, but he always loved it. But since he’s gone, And tomorrow is the big day. I still can’t help but ask myself, “What do I get him?” I want so bad to storm the stores For the man that I dearly love. To give another box of candies, just once more, To know that each candy would be cherished and savored. Though he is not here, I still will get him something, A box of candies at the least. I know my father would enjoy whatever I bring. Now the day is here and filled with grief, I weep. “Why, dad, did you have to leave me!” I cry out. A cold touch on my shoulder, and I see his loving hand. “It was my time,” a familiar voice whispers out, without doubt. Before me stood a dim silhouette of dad, “Thank you for my candies,” his head tilted, he was sincere. “Daddy, I miss you.” “I know, but I am always near.” His silhouette disappeared. Knowing I stood before his ghost, I froze Until a deep peace fell over me. I knew my daddy was close. His box of candies sat on the table. The box had been opened, I could see. I took the lid off. It was empty. No longer was I sad he was gone. He had a purpose for leaving. I had finished my grieving. |