What The Hell Are You Doing Here?

He looked at me, eyes dull and cold, “What the hell are you doing here?” And just like that-my heart caved in, Shattered by the words I feared. I had come with love in trembling hands, A daughter needing something small- Just a soft goodbye, a crack of light, But he built another wall. I stood there stunned, not sure to speak, Not sure if he even saw The child behind my grown-up face Still reaching through the flaw. I wanted to scream, I’m your daughter, I’m here because I care, But his voice was sharp, and full of fire, And none of that was there. I tried to make sense of his anger, Was it pain that made him blind? Was it cancer eating through his words, Or the damage in his mind? Cirrhosis, Hep C, too many wounds- They stole the man I knew. And maybe somewhere deep inside, He missed me coming through. But all I have are those last words, They echo in my chest- Not “I love you,” not “thank you,” Not even “I wish you the best.” And still I wonder, every night- If he’d been without his disease- Would he have instead changed His final words to me?