Gramps’ faded and worn-thin bib overalls
Handkerchief in his pocket
Farmers tan across his forehead
Baby white skin above
Worked sun up to sun down
Grandma in the kitchen, cooking and canning
Bent over in the garden, planting and picking
Telling stories on my dad
He ran away with his little red wagon
He made it to the end of the lane
Porch swing, apple trees, peaches
Ice cream with strawberries, or sugar
Gramps in his Pioneer cap
Grandma in her dresses, apron and old shoes
Did they ever buy anything new?
Hard work and sacrifice
That was love
Dad learned it well
I always wanted more
That’s what he knew how to give
I am 46
Dad is gone
Four years now
I finally accept
It was enough
My dad’s death five years ago began a different kind of journey. Instead of dealing with the pain in the present of our relationship, I had to learn to deal with the pain that would never have resolution. I realized I had to accept the good and the painful in our relationship, forgive what he was not able to give, and be grateful for what he did give. He gave what he could and I know he loved me.
This is a tribute to my grandparents, my dad, to fathers, and to children everywhere, young and old. There is another side to painful memories and a place of acceptance and gratitude. I never was able to imagine it was possible to heal, but it is. I hope the same for all of you.
Life is accepting the good and the bad in everything and everyone. I am growing and grateful for it. Thanks for reading and allowing me to share my journey through prose and poetry.