This poem is to my father. He had a stroke 4 years ago and now I am dealing with it. No one understands why it affects me the way it does, because he is still alive. But in my eyes that isn't my dad and it's so hard to see him that way. It's awful to see exactly what I want, but it's really not him.
To My Dad
I'm opening my presents in front of the tree,
Dad, and I look over to your chair
I look at the emptiness, Dad, the space,
and become sad because you're not there
Summer comes along with my birthday,
Dad, and you aren't there with a big grin
My competitions come and go, Dad,
you aren't there to see me win
I go into your room one day,
Dad, and look at your empty drawers.
I go and visit you one day, Dad,
and I see you, but the soul isn't yours
I feel you, and see you,
and touch you and smell you.
But you can't think, or drive, or work
or be my dad like you always used to.
Why did this happen, Dad?
I know that no answer will fit right.
I wish you could still be here Dad,
I wish you didn't lose the fight.
Why is God making you suffer,
Dad, I'd really like to know.
I get to see your body and it tears me up inside,
I visit you and then I have to go.
I see your body, but yet it's not you,
and that's the hardest of them all.
No one understands, they think you are still alive,
they don't get why I always bawl.
Its like you die over and over,
Dad, it is like a tease,
A constant reminder of something I can't have,
I am begging you please!
Don't treat me this way,
God, I want my Dad back
Dad, if you're listening from wherever you are,
my life is perfect, but you I lack.
You are still here, so I don't know
whether you are watching from Heaven above
Maybe your soul is there,
but either way, I send you my love.