On Father

We don't really talk about the complex relationship we have with our parents which begins when their deaths rob us of their life and we notice the shadow that was always beside us, shaping our choices and, if we are very lucky, provide a solid template to be fathers ourselves. I felt each word to be as familiar to me as the nose on my face. I had no idea, as a man, that he sculptured what a man does even when his life force was disfigured by the long years of war. War in New Guinea is no place for a 16 yr old man. His war was far longer than the duration. Gender perspectives of his adult children are as different and compelling, that I wonder whose hear I felt the last beat. We grieve in the telling of silly tales unashamed of the snot that our tears drove in rivers. I still feel my hand resting on his cool moist skin, how long did I wait to release a breath than I'd held? Men are flawed. All of us are flawed. it's not until close to the end, that we have the most profound one-sided discussion. I see John's journey as if I'm a peeping Tom. Some things are the sound of inner, infinite, primal loss; a warning to the gods that a man is moving from our reality to their's, and in whose company he not wanting a thing. John, how will we show our children that death is a free state: whatever pain we feel is the birth to another existence ... Perfect words from an astonishing linguistic adept. I hear you brother...