Going through terrible highs and lows. Sometimes the high is so high, there is no time to write. And at other times, the low is o abysmal, that words become so sticky and morose. These are the days when I would rather not speak to anyone, rather not communicate at all.
In this death ward of this great silence, I float listlessly. I hear screams and tears flowing my way from far away, for the sins of a lifetime, mostly unatoned. I feel the fever of loss in my veins, sometimes for a moment, mostly for a lifetime. Memories grow and wither and I have nothing but a silent benediction for the dead, for the lost and for the overwhelmed memories in me.
I know these are the mornings when I see nothing but gray. Is there a poem in all this? I am sure there is, but a better person must write it.
Somewhere there is a buffalo stomping his feet, someone is weeping silently, a bundle of sorrows is unhurled in a room far away. It has been three years since he died. He was led silently to his slaughter by the disease that raged through his body, yet he held his head high and went with dignity.
I wish I could apologize everyday. There was so much I wanted to say, so much I wanted to do. But in the end, all that was left was a dream and a short phone call. Three years pass ever so quickly. My life keeps getting complicated. You are not there to teach me to be a man when I am challenged with the burdens and decisions.
I miss you dad. I really do. On a day like today when there is nothing more I need than to make a phone call and reach out to you.
