that I will one day is comforting,
but still, all those years I didn't have,
they count for something too.
I didn't get to sing him songs
or push him on the swing.
Didn't hold his hand or
give him french fries
from my plate or have a fight.
Didn't get to meet his girlfriends,
see him marry, turn me, just like
that, into an aunt.
He died so young, we never
got acquainted, and he never even
had a chance to know we loved him
as he was. I hope he knows it now.
I never met your brother,
but I wish I had. Believing
that I will one day is comforting,
but still, to learn of someone's life
entirely from the stories people tell
is not the ideal way. Stories, though,
are all you have, and memories,
the snapshots of a life you loved so
deeply that it changed the way
you thought , behaved, still changing
things for many folks who also
never knew him. That's got
to count for something.
He died so suddenly, you never
had a chance to say goodbye.
He always knew you loved him, though,
no question that you loved him
as he was, for who he was: brother,
son, uncle, beloved friend, gentle man.
He knows it still.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013
No comments:
Post a Comment