You know my Dad died when I was seven. Brain cancer. I told my cousin Laura that he got too smart for his own good and his brain blew up. Made sense at the time.
I haven’t talked much about Bob.
My mom married Bob four or five years after my Dad died. He was a brave, brave man for choosing to marry in spite of the six unruly children she was raising. Either that or he was stupid. We’ll stick with brave for the sake of storytelling.
I fought myself over Bob. On one side I wanted to hate that man. He was nothing like my Dad and I was way to angsty to just open my heart to him. On the other side he had a charm that could not be resisted. A love for nature and animals that I could relate to. And a silly sense of humor that was endearing and goofy.
He wore me down.
I grew up.
He got cancer.
Away at school I got a phone call with news of another failed treatment. It was bad news. It’s hard to hear news like that when you’ve lived those stages once already. It’s hard to hear news like that when you’re hoping against hope that this time will be different.
It’s hard to hear news like that.
I felt desperate. I felt blind sided. And I felt overwhelmingly sad. So I wrote a poem:
somebody do something
helpless and crying
God help me.
watching, just watching
this all over again.
Who took the carpet
out from under my feet?
falling, I’m falling
somebody do something.
He died three months later.
HAVE A HAPPY DAY!!!!