Dad

Dad and his Mom. WW2. St. Louis. pic.twitter.com/D6cVNPI0Fi

— Mary Gerdt (@marygerdt) September 4, 2015

Dad's birthday is today.

He would be 93.

Where is he now?

Dad 

Dad, I tried to tell you,

Oh, so long ago,

That Mom she really loved you,

I just hope you know,

You two were meant to be,

Together,

Having children,

Even though,

The path uncertain,

You took just what you you need.

Dad, You said to keep on working,

Until you drop,

I did,

Still you'd say to get up,

Walk again,

I did.

The pain so sharp,

so deep,

My screams,

Muffled by genetics,

That Prussian blood,

Mixed with Mom's,

A Slavic, Swedish, Prussian Soup.

Dad,

You were the best,

A friend, a critic, a postman philosopher,

You shaped wood into cabinets,

Hammered nails,

Chipped ice off the cars

Made pizza

From the fresh groceries,

Bought on the Hill section of St. Louis.

Dad,

I told you to go to Mom,

From many miles away,

You were lingering,

Exactly where you never wanted to be,

Then the phone call,

Bitter relief,

and then

Those absent tears,

For Him.