My father passed.
I wanted him to stay but god won.
I can't complain.
We had him longer than we could have thought.
He was awesome!
He was my friend.
He was the best father a girl could have had
Right to the end.
I miss him so.
I cried so hard.
And then really loud, not me, but in my head.
He played for me our favorite piece Pachelbel's Canon in D.
It was overloud but good.
It calmed me.
The music petted me and held me close.
Yes now, you know.
The undulating and waxing and waning.
High tide low tide.
This horrible necessary wave of knowing.
You want to so much, but you cannot hide.
Eventually this cruel acceptance slowly leaks inside.
And what's left, I will take, the willingness to know.
That what I have left is the chance.
I might maybe see him again.
I can only hope.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem