I miss my Dad

My dad.

He smells like Bay Rum.
Rugby balls and stinky running shoes.
Rugged, active, robust.

Skiing, biking, running, swimming.

That was then.
Not so very long ago.

My dad.

He smells of fetid urine running into his leg bag.
His breath sour.
Lips chapped.

Skin like tissue; bone poking out and swimming in his fluids.

My dad.

He tries to rake his stiff boney fingers through his sparse hair.
He is thirsty. A sip of water.
He burps. Ever gracious ” excuse me.”

My dad.

We hold hands.
I thank him for loving me.
He wheezes his agreement.

My dad.

I stand over him.
I feel so huge.

As I bend to kiss him
my tear falls onto his face.
I reach for a tissue.

My dad…takes my hand and says
“No, please leave it.”


2 thoughts on “I miss my Dad

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