I mourn the loss of those who pass
as the things that will not be.
Like the best man I would not have
when my best friend was lost to me.
But sickness brings a constant loss
while the sick still live and breath
and as dad declines, I face the fact
that days are gifts not guaranteed.
There was a time, early on,
when treatments tried to gain
a thing or two he still could do
but now, just push out pain.
Who decides how long to cling
to life without much living?
Can treatments pause long enough
for the love we could be giving?
It’s not a choice we choose to face,
it’s things we just push through.
Each tiny loss can be put away
when the sum is not put on you.
When I’m away, I get to say,
that my dad is still hanging on,
but as life still clings, he’s remembering
a lift that’s already gone.
This poem was posted for the previous week’s poetry prompt, Two Sides of Loss.