Father

My father is dying.

If not in the next few hours, then probably by tomorrow.

Of course, he could fool us all. His sense of humor was always hidden from me.

I was his first child and he was not an easy father to train.

Not that I knew what I was doing either,

we were both so stubborn. It was a difficult time.

He is still stubborn.

Stubborn at living.

Stubborn about dying.

His finer parts left some time ago.

Off to wherever it is we go when the body's dross becomes too heavy.

His leaving will affect us all.

Like snipping a strand out of a spider's web,

the shape will change, but

the web will remain.

Father?

Do you know that parts of you will remain in me?

Sometimes I am frightened by which part I see.

Pieces of soul,

Pieces of life,

Living on in those left behind.

Fare thee well, old man.