“I will not leave you orphaned… I don’t leave you the way you’re used to being left–feeling abandoned, bereft… I’m leaving you well and whole.” — John 14

My father is dead
but he is alive in my head.
He haunts me.
I often wish I could kill him 
off for good, then I remember how much
I miss him.

My father is alive. In my heart and in my head.  And in the quick stream of my soul,
where pain rushes, he lives.  The deep scars of his voice,
the disappointed echo in the canyons of my mind
is strong.
I just want to be well and whole, I cry.

My father is dead
but he is alive in my head.
And on those days when every child needs a father, I cling
to an image of him smiling
at me, he is
enjoying
a brief moment of respite from the demons
that terrorized him.
(And us.)

My father is dead, but still he bullies
(me.)  I think,
he never meant to hurt anyone.
I think,
he’s watching me, from afar.
I hope he’s happy with me (now, finally.)

My father is dead, but he’s alive
every day that I go on strong, loving, powerful, a remnant
of him. Memories fade.
Forgetting is sometimes good.
But he left us so much more that we must remember.

My father is alive
in me.

MELODY

Other things I have written about my father.

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