For Dad
How fortunate to have each day
with you, beyond the artificial quiet
of this room, full of gentle beeps
and yellow lights, shining gems
of unknown information.
How fortunate to have each day
of choices for you, gifted hands taking
wires and tubes and delicate machines
blessing you with comfort.
But how selfishly, forcefully I have behaved,
taking the hands of father time into my own--
Why now, and why him? I ask.
The helper, the seeker
who couldn't help himself,
still seeking purpose for himself,
still needing to love himself--
Why?
I know there are no answers.
With the time that is left, I am here,
we are here, anticipating
the true quiet, and loving you--
how fortunate.
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