Just me and my dad.


and him.

There we were.


Did he know who I was?

Was he wishing for someone else?


so raw

so exposed

so frail



I cried for all the moments

he was’t there for me.

A torrent of angry tears

surging through time


And here I was

at the end of it all,

not the smart one,

 not the pretty one,

 not the one who loved him most.


He lifted his eyelids,

 and softly patted my hand.

Caught off guard

I blurted out everything

I never got to hear.


“I’m right here with you”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Don’t be scared.”

“You’re doing great…”


“…I love you.”


His body tightened up,

 hazy eyes opened wide.

He urgently clutched my arm.

I kissed his clammy forehead,

peered straight through

his translucent gaze.



in that place..

not here,

but not quite there

 uncovered the dying man’s soul.


“I know you love me dad .”


The healing came,

So very late,

but just

in the nick of time.


And there we were

just me

and my dad,

waiting for eternity




    • I wrote this right after my dad died as I reflected on how ironic it was that I just happened to be the one who was with him as he died. It was the most deeply personal event my dad and I ever shared; (not sure we had shared any before that.) It didn’t dawn on me until later how important it was to have that experience. We were both set free.

      Liked by 1 person

  1. This is stunningly beautiful, Cindy … heartbreaking, but beautiful. I am in awe of your writing, and of your generosity of spirit. Thank you so much for sharing this.

    Liked by 1 person

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