Where does time go?
Is there a place it is stored after it is used up?
Could we stop it for a while?
Sort through used time for a while?
Must time always be new and ever moving?
I wish I could have him back,
Just for a day,
Just for an hour,
Wouldn't he be so proud of his grandkids?
Would he relish the stories of Africa?
Wouldn't he have some advice that makes me say,
"How the Hell do you even know that?" or
"How long you been holding on to that nugget of wisdom?"
In that moment together,
We would go for a drive;
We would talk about life;
We would eat pizza;
We would laugh;
We would live out some more of our reconciled relationship;
We would look at each other with faces that say,
"All is forgiven"
"I love you"
"I am proud of you"
And we would not need words.
Seven years ago today I buried my father;
Seven years ago today was the last time I saw his face;
Seven years ago today
My soul is stretched thin between heaven and earth,
As part of me went with him,
And yet there is a promise,
The Easter promise,
The promise that death,
With its bluster and fury,
With its hate and rage,
With its smugness and certainty,
Does not have the last word,
Like it thinks it does.
I cannot see my father;
I cannot hold my father;
I cannot hear his voice...
But I will
And when I see him I will run to him
And he will run to me
We will trample death on the way to each other