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"I look at Uncle Roger as a blessing to our family, for he taught our family to view all people with more humanity." (loosely quoted, paraphrasing what my cousin Sylvia said to me at my dad's funeral this summer)

Here is a picture of my father, Roger Miller.
See how brightly he smiles; how sweet his eyes are.
My mom met him in the Navy before he left for Korea.
She tells us he was Valedictorian and star athlete in his high school.
When she met him, he was very personable, but the man in this photo. . .
                    I hardly knew him.

This is the best picture I have of him because I have so few!
                    I hardly knew him.
When he returned from war, mental illness followed; it consumed him.
In those days there was no decent treatment for schizophrenia.
My dad grew sicker and my mom was forced to leave him,
taking her four daughters back with her, far away, to Iowa.

Responsible and kind, my dad sent money monthly for his daughters.
He corresponded with us by mail and drove out a few times to see us.
However, I felt detached from him; I had so many questions for him.
I visited him as he lay dying this year in a hospital, hoping for answers.
He said little. His eyes - so much like mine – were still beautiful, but
                    I hardly knew him.

Sept. 21, 2019
For Writing Challenge 2, September 2019 - The Photograph - Poetry Contest
 Sponsor, Wiishkobi Ode

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