Elegy To My Father
I
My dreams took years to comprehend your death.
Each night they found you
Sipping coffee in the hard kitchen chair
Lost in a book
Children’s chaos somehow tuned out.
Your absence jolted me awake each morning.
How could I have forgotten?
Then I found you less frequently,
A voice in the background reminding me,
“This is only a dream, you know,
He’s not really here.”
Eventually your image disappeared completely,
The empty chair removed.
II
I know your absence more intimately
Than I ever knew your presence.
Quiet man descending into your basement office,
Your remote thoughts.
You were quantum physics,
Astronomy, metallurgy,
Complicated political theories.
You were classical piano,
Emily Dickinson.
You were unreachable brilliance.
It has been twenty years since you died
And still
I try to climb the intellectual peaks
Where I last saw you.
III
Half my genes code for question marks.
Who were you, who am I?
I look back for signs,
Retrace the paths of my childhood
And my mother’s home
For glimpses of you.
There is only one photograph of us.
I am shirtless, about three years old,
Sitting on your shoulder.
We are both smiling,
But I look anxious,
Waiting to be set down.
I sift through your piano music,
Looking for something familiar.
There is Bach, Chopin, Beethoven,
But one worn piece catches my eye,
Shumann’s Scenes from Childhood.
IV
I remember your year-long dying.
“My father’s got cancer,” I told my friends
And waited for the explosion of comforting words.
But you bore it in silence,
Each new assault endured.
Dressing changes, indignities of exposure,
Slow draining of life,
Hopes deflated by test after test.
It was Mom you watched,
Patient with her reluctant surrender
To inevitable loss,
Teaching her what she’d need to know-
Finances, small home repairs,
Arranging ways for her to fill
The oncoming empty hours,
Down to the detail of a Christmas gift
For the holiday you knew
You would not live to see.
V
You died in private,
Your family dining in the next room.
Mom said she felt your spirit
Hover over the table that night.
Having said your good-byes,
Knowing we’d be alright,
You carefully closed the circle
And slipped quietly away.
It’s in your death that I find
What eluded me in your life.
Silence was your way.
In a world too full of noise,
Silence is how you live in me.
By Maria Brady-Smith
Wow, thank you.
Thank you, Jay, for reading it!
I concur, wow, thank you
Thank you, Robin. Glad you liked it.
Brilliance. You impart some emotions with your words. Paint stories. Thanks for sharing.
Thanks, Kathy! I really appreciate your saying so!
Thank you.
Today is my Dad’s birthday. He died in ’92. He was a hard worker.
Your sentiments bring him closer to me.
Wow! Well, I think that is a God thing. Hope you have some good memories to think about today.
One of your best. Thank you Maria.
Thank you, Susan!
Maria you have captured so many emotions here. We were so fortunate to have wonderful fathers! I can’t imagine how difficult it was to lose your dad so many years ago. Thanks for sharing this – so inspiring!
I wish I had known him better. This poem was a way to learn more about him.
Nothing compares to haunting loss of one’s father. Mine was only 48 when he died in an accident. I recall, as though it were mere moments ago, the chaos, confusion, sadness, and that enveloped our family. That we had no goodbyes, last “I love you(s)”, or apologies for, now forgotten, misdeeds hurts me still.
Your poem reminds me that there does exist an unspoken communication between parents and their children (no matter their ages) of acceptance, forgiveness, absolution, and the unconditional kind of love their relationship embodies.
I rarely talk about my father, all of the “what ifs” are, to this day, so painful, but your poem evoked many memories that I find comforting. Thank you for your sharing eloquent tribute, Maria.
Wow. That is really something, Cinda. We had a year between when Dad was diagnosed and when he died so it gave all of us some time to say some of those things- although I still have lots of questions I wish I could ask. I was just too young to think of them. I am glad you found a little comfort in the poem. I love what you had to say about the unspoken communication between parents and children. I really think that is true. Our best selves only want the best for our children. Thank you for commenting.
Beautiful, poignant, and timely for me. Thank you.
Thank you, Peggy. Thinking of you these days.
Thank you Maria. I love this dad poem.