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Memories, Long Sad Journey,
     
Bitter cold that Saturday morning, late in November 1969, I could see my breath parading before me. No breakfast as I had quietly left the house and started my slow walking trek back to our old home. 
 Memories flooded my brain with each new turn along that dusty road. Along with questions about why I was now so rebellious. Quicker, walk quicker my heart and soul demanded. Do you not want to touch the bedroom door where you father slept? Slept before that long dark sleep.  Slept in such pain and sorrow? Yes, bellowed back my invisible friend.

frosty morning dew
loose pebbles crunched beneath feet
earth, morning sky paled 

Halfway there, with my heart racing and anticipation heightened
I could almost imagine a real touch. A real touch, of he now lost, to all eternity!
What wild thoughts come to a teenage soul and mind in its greatest of pains and sorrows. Can death be denied? Can one bring back even for the briefest moment a loved one.. A father, a beloved father!

blackbirds silent view...
light ahead, welcomed beacon
wrapped in winter's sheen

Walking up the short drive and onto the front porch. Only gone away half a year and such change found! Silence, silence engulfed my thoughts. Struck numb as I entered our vacated home. Home were my father had exhaled his last breath. Hand shaking as I reach for that doorknob.. 
 What would I see? His ghost? Would I dare touch his ghost? I walked into cold, lonely room,nothing!
No smile, no hug, no long awaited touch! Only tears, tears by the bucketful. 
What had I come to find? Was I crazy to want to see, talk, touch one more time?

one old shoe, lonely
broken window, dusty mounds 
bleak abandoned walls

I knew, knew with certainty that this was it. Life gave no overs and no going back to happier times. Terror of that reality, would it ever leave. Would it?
Father is dead and my life is over. I walked out into this dark world ready to fight. Fighting to be left alone, with my never ending sorrow and its sweet cuts. Cuts embraced to keep my rage, to yet again feel something, defeat the icy numbness in a rebellious teenager's aching heart.

Robert J. Lindley, August 5th, 2017
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