Watching my Dad

Watching my Dad

I caught myself staring at dad yesterday.

We were watching the Yankees play—

Strike that—dad was watching and

I was watching him watch the game.

 

I found myself pondering several things:

Dad exists currently…

But won’t for very much longer.

I was trying to capture the moments

Like fireflies in a mason jar.

I was attempting to take it all in

With a vigilance that curated it

Inside my mind for future reference.

 

Dad exists, but not for long.

So hard to wrap my brain around.

 

I looked at his clouding eyes,

Sometimes closed, sometimes squinting,

Sometimes looking wide with wonder—

As if surprised or scared

Or maybe a mix of both.

I stared at his stare telling my mind:

“Remember this, Jason.”

 

I looked at his gaunt face—

Sometimes animated, often emaciated.

I traced every storied wrinkle

Remembering how each muscle

Would cinch and stretch

down through the passing years

Carving his face with laugh lines

and a forehead donning a furrowed brow.

 

“Remember what this feels like, Jay.”

 

My mind kept harassing me

With the mystery of existence,

“Dad is here with me right now,

And it won’t be long before

I can’t be with him anymore.”

Staying present with these thoughts

Caused me to gaze upon dad

With a sense of gain and loss,

Honor and horror.

 

I grabbed his cold left hand,

The hand starving for circulation.

I gazed at my hand covering his

Knowing that I won’t always

Be able to reach over

And touch my father’s hand.

To feel that tactile connection. 

To orient my being in relation

To his being.

 

So I took it all in yesterday

Trying to burn these pictures

Into my mind like a firebrand.

We were not meant to die,

Not in the beginning.

There is no mechanism within us

To process this kind of loss.

It’s not supposed to be this way.

 

I’m having trouble accepting it today.

I think that’s ok.