One Moment

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Tags:
  • Family
  • ,
  • Sadness

    One Moment


    Take back one moment

    Late one evening, tea with Dad.  All the kids are sleeping.  We’ve visited, we’ve started pancake mix for the morning, Dad always has to be cooking or preparing food.  Then Dad asked, “Bobbi Jo, what do you think happens when you die?  Do you really believe in heaven?”  I’m at the sink cleaning up, and answer in just a few words, “Yeah, Dad, I believe in heaven.”  He flew back to San Francisco that week, it was the last time I saw my Dad.  It’s not guilt I feel, but I wish I’d stopped what I was doing.  I wish I’d looked at my Dad.  I wish I’d said “Well Dad, let’s talk about it.”  If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.  I’d ride that horse up to Dad and we’d visit for hours about death and dying and what it means to both of us.

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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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