COVID 19 has given many of us difficult days this year. However, for me, December 28 is a difficult day every year. On that day thirty-three years ago, my father died from a massive heart attack. I was young and it felt as though my whole world crumbled. I could not reconcile myself to the realization that I would never see him or hear his voice again.
As I mentioned before, my first book, My Restoration was dedicated to his memory. The poem below is also from that book.
Daddy, in everything there's you,
At the dining table is your chair,
Along with the memories of the little
things you'd do.
In the living room, your space is also there,
Where you'd sit from day to day,
And snooze leisurely without a care.
With your strong hands, you made for us our home,
You're in every nail, every board, every grain of sand.
You're in every bit of furniture, from room to room.
You are in our every conversation,
Each thought is connected somehow with you.
Tho' dead, you're alive, in mind and imagination.
This little thing I've tried to do,
One little tribute to bestow,
All in memory, Dad, of you.
Copyright © 1994 by J. Shannell Evans