My dad loved football. He played in high school and college, and was an ardent fan his whole life. He had season tickets to the Air Force Academy games, and each Saturday, he'd pack up his cooler and he and my mom, or he and his buddies, or sometimes he and his daughters, would head out to the games.
My dad died about ten years before I adopted my boys. Every week, I sit in the stands and watch my boys play football. I know my dad would have driven the 75 miles to be at be at every game. He would have loved watching Son #1 streak down the field and burst into the end zone. He would have loved Son #2's quiet confidence as he manages the offense. He would have been so, so proud of his grandsons.
I miss my dad.
HOLES
Strangest of gaps
their goneness-
mother, father, loved friends
the black holes
of the astronomer
are not more mysterious
this kind of hole
will not be filled
with candle flames
or even a thousand thoughts
the hole is inside us
it brims over
is empty and full at once.
Lillian Morrison
in THIS PLACE I KNOW: POEMS OF COMFORT
POETRY FRIDAY is at WILD ROSE READER.
3 comments:
A lovely tribute! How proud your father would be...
Sometimes you know where those holes are and you can tiptoe around the edge without falling in, but sometimes they take you by surprise. I miss my dad, too.
This is so lovely. Thanks for sharing it.
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