A Father, Graduated

He had passed
And grieving impulses
Worked to batter.
On waking, thoughts
Would blurt out
He is gone.
Someone had removed
The trusty Back-stop.

No other death of
Any other relative
Had hit as hard.
I doubted my
Judgment and balance.
I remembered in music
Wardrobe, mornings
On a Northern boat dock.
Golf links in passing.

A fishing trip
Where late afternoon
And silent drifting
Turned a huge rock face
Into bronze glory
From the skies.
We two could only
Marvel, together.

What had been
Ripped out.
Causing huge self-doubt?
Troubling over things
Not said; not done
By a disarmed Son?

But at his funeral
Pipes were played
And hopes
Portrayed.
And Grace. Amazing.
Unstoppable.