Monday, May 18, 2015


I watched you die two years ago today.
I try to write about you but don’t know what to say.

I used to document your every move,
but now I just can’t find a groove.

So proud; I wanted to share you with the world.
Like any father, I loved my little girl.

The way you would drag me around by my finger;
these fragmented memories of our bond are all that linger.

Six years passed so quickly in a blur.
My greatest fear now is that one day I will forget her.

I cling to these moments so tightly, for they're all I have to remember.
Her fire has died, but wait; there’s still a smoldering ember.

What can I possibly say now that would matter
about a precious life taken away, leaving so many in tatters?

So instead I sulk and wallow;
a bitter pill that’s mine alone to swallow.

Last year, I went on a Hawaiian hike.
It seemed a fitting way to celebrate my tyke.

Today seems so much harder.
Are the feelings real, or am I just playing the martyr?

This pain I don’t feel just once a year.
It’s with me every daya constant reminder ringing in my ear.

I find no comfort in reading scripture,
and the ache is only worsened if I dare look at her picture.

I’m left here to wonder what might she be doing on this day.
Boarding the bus, I suppose, heading off to learn and play.

Now all that remains at her school is a little tree
planted to honor her memory, although I doubt many visit except me.

I curse God and sometimes family, too.
Most couldn’t possibly know, because they haven’t lived through.

So just be quiet and don’t speak a word.
These hollow comforts you offer I’ve already heard.

This journey is reserved for a chosen few.
Be glad it’s me and not you.

My time here is not yet complete.
What is it you want me to do, my sweet?

I know I couldn’t have changed this wretched outcome.
Your journey here was done; you gave your heart and then some.

Now it’s time to find a new purpose amidst this strife.
Pick up the pieces and make a new life.

Keep holding tightly to that finger and lighting the way.
Although you're somewhere else, I need this small part of you that helps me each day.

I’m listening to your voice telling me to write.
Fingers to the keyboard Daddy, don’t give up the fight.

I feel your gentle tug pointing me where I should go.
I listen and wait for you to reveal those things only a little angel can know.

Love really does transcend the bounds of time and space.
This knowledge I’m grateful for but also wish I didn’t have to face.

I’ll see you again one day on the other side, but not yet.
On that one certain truth, you can place your bet.


  1. Very touching Chuck. I'm sure she's smiling up in heaven.

    1. Thank you for reading, Marc. Really appreciate you taking time to do that.

  2. This made me cry. So touching and meaningful. She's smiling at you everyday Chuck. She's always with you and she'd be proud of how strong you are.

  3. Mary Kenney just shared your poem on Loss of Our Kids site and it impacted me deeply. I struggle so much with the conflicting feelings, feeling like a self absorbed bitch half the time, like I think my pain is any worse than anyone else's or something, like the mother who buried 2/4 of her children by the side of the road while trying to get out of The Sudan somehow isn't as impacted as I am from my son's death. But then I don't know what to do with my pain. Turns out reading your words helps me know....a bit. I need to keep grappling. Keep facing.

    1. Hang in there, Jen. I struggle mightily most of the time.

  4. Wow,so much I related to.
    Especially no scripture
    And looking at your picture,
    My eyes are welled with tears
    My heart lives your pain

    Beautiful,beautiful poem..