By: Wendy Shywalker

The room echoed with its emptiness, nothing was left,
nothing that spoke of the life of my father,
it was as if he had never been.
My heart died a little more inside, he was gone again,
this time no note, no goodbye.
I stood there looking at the bare walls as the beams of daylight,
cast their ghostly shadows around the room,
shadows that hung over a son's heart.
My anguish squeezed my heart, the pain unbearable,
doesn't he understand what this does to me? Why can't he see?
He feels a break in the air, sees its intangible rift,
but my pain at his leaving, seems invisible to his sight.
Invisible or inconsequential, to his path,
his journey, his seeking of the meaning of life.
What if our lives had not been touched by death,
and mother, his Laura was still alive.
Would he still feel the need to leave?
Could her love have been strong enough to keep him here,
because mine doesn't seem to be.
Why is my love, the love of his son never enough?
We missed so much that was stolen from us,
now we have a second chance,
why do you give that gift so willingly away?
Such a precious thing that many never receive,
does it mean that little to you,
or is it that it measures smaller in your greater scheme of things?
Is it a measure of a man that he touches many on his journey.
But what of the one?
What if something was to happen to me while you were gone,
would you regret the way you left,
would you regret not saying goodbye?
If I died tomorrow,
I would have only one regret and that is,
that there was not enough time,
time to know completely the man who is my father.
I'm tired Pop, tired of the pain and abandonment I feel,
I’m tired of the constant battle for your time and attention,
I want the war over, I want peace.
But each time you leave,
a new volley of shots is fired and battle lines are redrawn,
I have to learn trusting all over again.
My joy at seeing you is always tinged with my standing back,
not getting too close, waiting for you to leave again
I know a child is not supposed to live in his father's life forever,
but we are different Pop,
I have so much to learn and you have so much to teach.
I am owed a childhood, with you and like a child
I want it before its too late.
For every time you leave,
you strip me of who I am,
for without you,
I am not me