coming home at dusk
leaves sunk into dimness; my
father’s weary voice
__________
coming home at dusk
incandescent greeting; my
father’s cheery voice
Dusk, time in between times, is always a difficulty, especially in the winter months. The sureties of the daylight have sunk and the lights in our homes are struggling to make a beachhead in the dimness. And it is often in this time when we arrive at home, transitions jostling in our souls, as we bump into our dear ones.
The readers of this blog perhaps do not know what my friends and family already do, that this past Sunday night my father, who lived with me, passed away somewhat suddenly. Driving home today, reflecting on the feelings that dusk often brings to me, I thought of the times Dad and I met after long days. Sometimes he would have arrived home ahead of me; sometimes me ahead of him. Sometimes he was worn out and low, walking slowly up my creaking stairs. Sometimes he was still energetic. Almost always, though, at some point he would lift up his head, his face glowing with a broad smile, reach his head up to cup the side of my face and say, “Hello, sonaay betai! How are you doing?” These are the things I’ll miss.
I’m so sorry to hear that your Dad passed away Neil. Thinking of you and praying that as you go through this time you’ll be surrounded by light and love.
I’m truly sorry to hear this, Neil. It’s good that you have these good memories of him, and are there to pass them on…
Beautiful haikus, there’s a lovely flow in them together.
My dear sweet cousin. I know you will miss your Dad. My heart aches for you. You are blessed with a great many memories that can make you smile. As you have said to me, I hope your sorrow is sweet. Your father made it very apparent to all of us how much he loves you. You boys were the pride and single most important earthly source of joy in his life. How wonderful that we know where he is. How awful that he left before any of us were ready. I hope you know how much I love you and how often I will be hugging you with prayer.
[…] dream, the sort you claw to stay asleep — you, sick; me, your care to keep Share this:EmailPrintFacebookTwitterLike this:LikeBe the first to like […]