Ani

Is it fair?

That sometimes I think of you as a different person than you were?

That sometimes I look in your face, searching for the you from before. 

That I feel bad you aren’t different?

That I sometimes take solace from your smile and give nothing back?

That I expect more from you?

That sometimes I don’t expect anything from you?

Am I fair to who you are and what you want and need?

Truthfully, that question is what I most want answered in my life. 

Ani Christmas present poem 2/11/18

Ani,

It strikes me that I have not taught you who my heroes are.

I would think this would have been a subject that would have come about through normal conversations between us.

Now I am forced to think specifically about things I wish to tell you.

Certainly Jesus is one of my heroes.  He had the power over the entire universe, but chose not to use it, even to save his own life.  He had the same temptations that I have, but he was able to resist them.

He had fears, even to dying, but he overcame them.

I speak to you of these qualities for two reasons.

I wish that I had them in more effectiveness,

and that I think that you have them in higher quality than I.

That makes _you_ one of my heroes.

You really have power over nothing, requiring our care for everything.

Yet you choose to show yourself to us.  You hold nothing back.  Where others (and possibly myself) would retreat from the world that wounded us, you _choose_ to bring your love and joy to others.

I would believe that, were I in your situation, I would be tempted to resent everything, and have that fester towards a hatred and antipathy towards everything.  Again, you show your hero quality here.  I have never seen you have anything but love that cannot help but shine out from you.

Of course I have other heroes, from science, music, etc.  Even Mommy represents a massive positive influence in my life, but I’m not sure the word “hero” is what she is to me.  None of my other heroes have influenced those parts of me that form a foundation of who I want to be.

Ani, you are one of my top heroes, and I want to be more like you.

Ani Christmas present poem 1/31/2018

One of my Christmas presents to Ani was that I would write her a poem every month.

Ani, by my heart, I live in two worlds.
In one world, I am firmly attached,
The other, I only visit.
The heights of joy and pride in you are with me always
Sometimes there is the twinge of guilt and sorrow.
The clouds come and there is a torrent.
Even though in the long run, the light is stronger,
The deluge mires me and dims my sight and senses.
Near you, though, it is the smell of lavender and the song of birds.
I wonder sometimes if it is my weakness or the raw strength of grief that transports me to a world I do not want to occupy.
The day of your birth is such an easy memory
Your voice through my memory still stirs my ears
My firmament is the knowledge that
I can hold you
I can see you
I can tell you I love you
I can rejoice in victories
I can be all I aspire to be, simply because I am your father.

Lock up the wind. 

Punish it as thief, murderer. 

Wicked sibling of a summer breeze. 

Its swirling fury and malice earns it a place in hell. 

It feels no pain or remorse. 

It is unliving, unloving. 

Dead but powerful. 

Object of hate and “Why?”. 

Leave me alone. 

Who are you?

Ani, who are you?

I know you are more than you seem. 

You are more than the interactions we have. 

You have secrets. 

Secrets you do not want to keep. 

Secrets you would shout, if you could. 

I hate that there are parts of you I don't know. 

Were you able to talk with me, I would have loved to have experienced you change day to day. 

More than anything in this world, Ani, I want to know even the most trivial aspects of you. Your secrets. Your unspoken dreams and fears. Your faith. Your loves. 

I know so much about you, through your twinkling eyes, your many different smiles, the differing efforts you put into indicating "yes", and the way you open your mouth to try to say something. 

Who are you, Ani?  You are not what my perceptions say you are. You are what YOU say you are. 

Tell me who you are. 

Please. 

Before we meet in Heaven. 

Point the way please, my eyes are clouded. 

It happens before I know it. 

Which way is the wind blowing?

What is my course?

The black cloud obscures my landmarks sometimes, causing me to drift. 

Questioning, I search for direction. 

Where am I?

Who am I?

Who do I try to be?

At times, hopes and dreams are so fleeting. 

At times I just want to be led. 

Tiring, I just want to sleep. 

Not to decide, not to discern. 

While walking, I awaken and choose my way, hoping to keep pointing straight the next time my eyes are clouded. 

The weight of "Why?"

Oh Nate,

I am more because of your life, and diminished by your death.  The weight of “Why?” causes me to fixate on your absence instead of anticipating our eventual reunion.

The weight of “Why?” causes me to shout your name in anger and sorrow while driving, forgetting the depth of love I once used while saying your name.

The weight of “Why?” keeps me in the moments of your life where I am ashamed of my behavior; the times I yelled at you, or stayed at the computer instead of dancing with you.

The weight of “Why?” binds me to this earthly existence and my weaknesses, when there is such strength and peace and love elsewhere.

The weight of “Why?” places more importance on our separation than the time we had you here.

Nate, I am more now than I ever was.  You have enriched me more than any loss can take away.  I promise to struggle against the weight of “Why?” every day, for you.