The Top of the Stairs

When you were younger, death seemed so far away,

And you never knew a single event could make your life so gray.

When you see death on your doorstep,

You finally realize that this could be the end.

No not for you, my sweet little girl,

But for your father, who is your whole world.

You see him smile and say "I'll be right back"

Little did you know, your world was about to turn black.

You heard the crash and dashed to the stairs,

Only to see your father crumpled at the bottom in despair.

You were the first there,

The first to see the blood that quickly matted his hair.

Your mother came next,

Only to fall by his side and say she would take over the rest.

Yet that was not the end of that eerie night,

No then came your brother and sister who cried out in fright.

Your mother directed you to take them upstairs,

They were too young to see death trying to claim their father down there.

When your 5 year old sister asked you "Is dad going to die?"

You asked yourself the same thing and had no reply.

You were trying to stay strong for them,

But when your mother called you back down you thought it was the end.

She was on the phone with 911,

And they told you to listen for his heart like the beating of a drum.

You were so young you could not have known,

You thought to the heavens your father had already flown.

You told them you could not hear anything,

But at last there was a ring.

Men flooded into your house to try and save your father,

But at this point doubt had flooded your mind and you wondered why even bother.

That’s when they lifted him up and all you saw was hit foot flutter,

And you broke down and screamed and cried,

And you asked them to let you be by his side.

But instead of letting you be with him,

They made you stay back with the kids.

You waited for the call that would tell you the worst,

That the next time you saw your father would be in a hearse.

That night was endless waiting for a call that did not come,

Until the next day with morning sun.

They told you your father had broken his neck,

And there was a strong chance you would never get him back.

But you did not cry or show any emotion,

No you kept it bottled up inside like some evil potion.

Even to this day you do not speak about that night,

Because maybe if you were to not shed any light,

It would make it less real,

Or make it so you did not have to feel.

But that evil potion is still inside of you,

And with each coming sleep, you relive that night a new.

And when you are finally awoken with the sight of your father being taken away,

You always wonder what you could have done differently that day.

Could I have asked him not to go down so late?

Or was this plan already apart of fate?

Sometimes I awake thinking it was just a nightmare,

But then I remember it all when I look down from the top of those stairs.