death
Papa
I remember when I named you,
How you looked sunken into your broken-in red chair reclined back,
How I used to fit in there with you, the box of Cheez-its always right next to the recliner bar,
And how I feel guilty sitting in your chair at your house without you.
I remember how you loved it when I played piano,
How I stopped playing after you died, because you weren’t here to listen,
How you always sang Irish songs when you thought no one was listening,
And how you finally agreed to teach them to me.
I remember you always made the best Thanksgiving turkey,
How I would come home from your house reeking of smoke,
How you stopped smoking inside, because I didn’t like it,
How the smoke eventually killed you,
And how I hate Thanksgiving now that it is not at your house.
I remember when you would give me two quarters for ice cream on the ride to school,
How you were too sick to drive us to school,
How I drove every fall weekend of sophomore year to St. Elizabeth’s,
And how we snuck my new puppy into the hospital and he fell asleep with you.
I remember when we watched countless Red Sox games together,
How you would give me the team updates every time we talked,
How long you had waited patiently your entire life to them to win the World Series,
And how I wished you were here to see them to win it.
I remember when I said goodbye before you were loaded into the helicopter, the tubes protruding from your mouth keeping you alive,
When I picked out On Eagles Wings, Salve Maria, and your favorite Irish tune for the funeral,
When I could not choke back the tears, for the first time ever, at your wake,
And the way it started to rain as you descended into the ground.
You were the first person I have ever missed.
I plant flowers at your grave.
I sit with you every week alone in the graveyard,
And I still cry writing this.
I have so much trouble with this death anniversary, this year i decided to make it into writing.
I remember when I named you,
How you looked sunken into your broken-in red chair reclined back,
How I used to fit in there with you, the box of Cheez-its always right next to the recliner bar,
And how I feel guilty sitting in your chair at your house without you.
I remember how you loved it when I played piano,
How I stopped playing after you died, because you weren’t here to listen,
How you always sang Irish songs when you thought no one was listening,
And how you finally agreed to teach them to me.
I remember you always made the best Thanksgiving turkey,
How I would come home from your house reeking of smoke,
How you stopped smoking inside, because I didn’t like it,
How the smoke eventually killed you,
And how I hate Thanksgiving now that it is not at your house.
I remember when you would give me two quarters for ice cream on the ride to school,
How you were too sick to drive us to school,
How I drove every fall weekend of sophomore year to St. Elizabeth’s,
And how we snuck my new puppy into the hospital and he fell asleep with you.
I remember when we watched countless Red Sox games together,
How you would give me the team updates every time we talked,
How long you had waited patiently your entire life to them to win the World Series,
And how I wished you were here to see them to win it.
I remember when I said goodbye before you were loaded into the helicopter, the tubes protruding from your mouth keeping you alive,
When I picked out On Eagles Wings, Salve Maria, and your favorite Irish tune for the funeral,
When I could not choke back the tears, for the first time ever, at your wake,
And the way it started to rain as you descended into the ground.
You were the first person I have ever missed.
I plant flowers at your grave.
I sit with you every week alone in the graveyard,
And I still cry writing this.
I have so much trouble with this death anniversary, this year i decided to make it into writing.