The Demise

My Dad died. My Dad. He died.

I wasn't able to understand it before, though I'd dreamt about it -- which always ended in a drenched-eyes wake.

My Dad died. I'm bereft of him. My brother, he's bereft of him.

He hadn't been himself for a long while, but he was our Dad.

Our Dad was there, and though the moments of him being himself were rare and rarer, he was always there.

And that's the only thing he'll never be again: there.

We'll be here. Representing him. A bit of him in me, a bit of him in my brother.

A lot of him in the tiny little bits that were so much of himself.

Love you, Dad. Will always love you, my Father.

I miss you already. I'll miss you forever.