Death and Birthdays

 


The eulogy was short
I did my best.

He lay there unchanged
Unmoved
Unaware of my words.

That was the last time I spoke to him.

They buried him the next day
Beneath loose earth at $15.00 an hour.

I didn't realize the hole would be so deep
That he would be so far from us.
His Converse high tops were laid next to him--
Worn and scuffed from the years

We all stood around with black Converse high tops on
Paying respect in an outward demonstration of pop culture

That was goodbye.
Bizarrely rushed and equally as lingering
Like the competing hands on a clock

Years passed while my heart found a new rhythm
And my mind found ways to forgive, but couldn't forget

My Converses went unworn; untouched
The eulogy sat in ink on blue lines, never to be spoken again

Today would have been his day
The forty-seventh year of cake and cards
And perhaps a new pair of Converse high tops
To replace what had been worn


I have had four birthdays since his death
Four August days of celebratory fun
The hands continue to move across the clock;
I seem to take each year for granted.

What would life be without death?
Without its threat, would we learn to truly love and live?
If not for the bitterness of death, would life taste as sweet?

Our birthdays were five short days apart
Closer than the eternity that separates us now

As I celebrate another year and reflect on the ones before
I see how far I have come from standing in those muddy Converses
With tears leaking from my broken heart

My love for him has grown, even though he is gone.
I have learned more about forgiveness, even if he isn't here to hear my apologies.

I breathe in deeply;
open my eyes to restoration and the beauty around me.

Anticipation fills my heart
For the arrival of my sweet daughter.

Above her crib, a tiny pair of pink Converse high tops sit waiting for her.
They are big shoes to fill.

Soon, I will breathe in her scent, hold her closely, and love her as he loved me.