Headline Poem 6/15/14 -- Father's Day Part 2

My husband Scott and our daughter Skye

Yesterday, in honor of Father's Day, I wrote this Part 1 poem about my daddy and me at age six when he died. And, today... Part 2 dedicated to my husband. As I fell in love with the next most important man in my life, made beautiful babies, this age of six began to leave its mark in ways I'm still trying to understand. Even as I write this, I am learning more about me, and my favorite man.

Father's Day Part 2

When my daughter was born, I started to push
harder than I ever had before,
because I was afraid of loving you
and having what happened to me, happen to her.
The man I chose to worship and adore,
I feared would be no more...
so instead of holding you tighter and
bringing you in,
I built a wall of dried clay and mud,
and struggled to let you in.
We still loved,
but we spun and swirled in different directions.
We struggled to stay connected.
We didn't deserve it, but I thought we did.
So you ran away,
to the dog house of your youth,
you excused yourself,
and withdrew.
You who I chose above all others,
who loved me as a mother
and more than any other.

You will explain this all one day,
but in the meantime, I have a few things to say
about the man you are today.

My husband Scott,
father, lover, friend, and son --
you are a man of integrity and heart.
You read books about believers and mountains and art.
You lay down a blanket if our babies are cold,
you love to hold us, and cook, and laugh, and run.
I look into your eyes and I see a future so bright.
You are the man I need morning, noon, and night.
You are a part of me and I a part of you.
Our skin and souls and intuitions are connected to the wind.
I honor and respect you.
I love you, and will never shorten that phrase again.
Because once you find what we've found,
you never let it go.
Happy Father's Day to you, who I adore.

Headline Poem 6/14/14 -- Father's Day Part 1

My daddy Will and I, 1980

Tomorrow is Father's Day. It is not a hard day. It is not an easy day. It is a changing day for me, as I learn and grow. Tonight's poem is inspired by this holiday, and a few of my own memories. I decided it belongs to be put into two parts. Here is Part 1.

Father's Day Part 1

When I was four my childhood consisted of
travel and adventure and two parents in love.
There were no wheelchairs, or diseases,
my daddy had all of his hair,
and floated around his veterinary hospital
on his magic, spinning chairs.

When I was five I started to learn new words
like cancer and Scripps and chemotherapy,
and
began to recognize that something was happening,
to my family,
though I didn't know what.

I was a baby then, as my daughter is now.
Wise beyond life years, but fragile and unclear.
A juniper tree with roots deep,
Strong and courageous,
but unable to see
beyond me.

When the hospital bed came home with my daddy, I was confused.
He was so strong. That is not something he needs to use.
Why was his own bed, that he shared with my mom,
no longer enough?
Why couldn't we run and jump under the covers to play rough?
He was a doctor. He fixed animals. He could lift up
our entire house.
I acted out,
and threatened to run away. I wanted to make him get up out of bed,
and begged for him to brush my hair (even if it would look bad).
I felt him slipping away.

I watched her cry, and wondered if it was because she knew
he'd never be able to be a daddy to me and you,
and that our days of wrestling on the floor
would come no more,
that our time together was ending, and that was going to be it.
I'd have a daddy until the age of six.
There was nothing I could do.

Age six buried itself under my skin.
I've kept in there for safe keepings,
like a treasure, like a bone -- sweet and savory, and all mine.
A place for me to go
when I want to sit and chew and think and be alone
and then re-bury it in soft dirt.
Thirty-one years later,
I am digging it up in remarkable ways. I am moving it, and licking it,
and throwing it around.
But I refuse to ever put it back in the ground.
It's on the surface now for me to share and display.
It's not a bad thing.
For this age of six,
is beautiful and free,
and I'm learning to embrace this
little piece of me.