Seven

Being seven,

I didn’t quite get it

When you spoke the

Words “They think it’s cancer.”

Countless doctor visits

Let me know that everything

Wasn’t okay, that they

Were still looking for an answer.

As the doctor stepped

Through the door,

Daddy’s eyes filled

With tears.

Being seven, I clung

Tight to every word

That let me know

You’d make it a few more years.

Being seven, I

Watched you recover

And had faith you’d

Be here to see me grow.

As I sit here today

Eight healthy years later

I take my time to thank

God that I still haven’t had to let you go.