If we are lucky, we get to watch—and
even hold hands with—our old fathers as
they negotiate the land between life
and death, talking to the denizens there
in language only they can understand.
If we are lucky, we derive comfort
from gathering with family as time
lengthens into forever for our old
fathers as they choose their moments to stop
using air as their native nutrient.
If we are lucky, we get to witness
the most profound letting go our fathers
will ever do, beyond helping children
grow at their knees and then setting them free.
My blog poems are rough drafts.
Please respect my copyright.
If you quote, credit this page.
© 2019 Susan L. Chast
Oh YES! How I love that comparison, the most profound letting go since raising children and setting them free. And those who love them are letting go, too, the hardest letting go of all. A beautiful and wise poem, my friend.
ReplyDeleteSo very true and beautiful Susan! Letting go is something we face so many times in this life.
ReplyDeleteThis is heartbreaking. But fulfilling for the one who is leaving. This beautiful poem reminds me of Tennyson's lines:
ReplyDeleteAnd may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
Very beautiful, Susan, and so appropriate for today, your first father's day without your father. Thinking of you.
ReplyDeleteI never thought of lucky as a bittersweet word, but that meaning is so evident in your poem, that I will probably think of the word in that way for a while. Beautiful and devastating.
ReplyDeleteThis is incredibly poignant. Susan. It takes a lot of strength and courage to pour your emotions on page. Thinking of you.❤️
ReplyDeleteA beautiful and profound Father's Day poem, Susan – in which the children, too, must do some letting go.
ReplyDeleteYes - if we are lucky indeed. Being with someone as they negotiate the land between life and death is no small thing. It must be a beautiful, though sad, experience. My cousin died this past week. At his funeral the pastor shared a bit about the day of his passing. Profound indeed. I liked the way you mentioned the moment they choose to stop using air as a native nutrient. Indeed they progress to a different level, and are free. A poignant poem.
ReplyDeleteThe paradox here is the longer we have them the harder it is to let them go as they have been part of our lives since birth. How many hands have I held and how many foreheads have I kissed as I watched them die.
ReplyDeleteThe poem read differently, once I saw Sherry's comment. Sending warm thoughts your way, Susan.
ReplyDeleteA beautiful poem! My father passed away when I was in college. I wish I had seen him old, but he profoundly touched all he met!
ReplyDeleteI am sorry for your loss,Susan! Hugs