You're here.

You’re gone. My brain doesn’t know how to tell my soul There’s an absence of connection. There’s a numbness.. An invisible wall that’s possibly cracking And going to unleash a torrent of emotions As well as memories That will all be shifted through While rivers of salt water find paths down my cheeks. You’re gone. And I don’t know how to accept a new normal. You didn’t choose to leave The opposite actually You fought like a warrior Until God said it was time. I’m not angry at God. I’m angry at all the things you’ll miss. You’ll be there, everyone says Which I don’t think they’re wrong But I won’t be able to see the look on your face. You’re gone. I don’t know how to process that. You’re in heaven I’m still here And you’re missing but still near. Anguish. Bitterness. Melancholy. Invisibility. Vulnerable. Useless. Broken survivor in the making. Those words seem to dance in my conscience. You’re gone. Just like the snowflakes on my tongue every winter. Just like the wind when our kite fell out of the sky. Just like the clouds on stormy days spent in the garage watching the skies. Just like our golf cart rides. Just like Christmas lights that we used to hang up. You’re gone. But you’re still here somehow. You’re the sunshine in the window. The rainbow after the storm. The fish in the lake And the simplicity of a summers day. You’re here. You hear the memories we regale Because we want others to know you like we did. You see the smiles we paste on our faces But the tears we’ll undoubtedly shed. You’re here. Just like you always have been And always will be. You’re here. And you’ll always be my daddy.