I sometimes write a letter in my head,
“Dear Dad,” I think,
have you heard, did you see, what do you think–
or perhaps a phone call,
like when I called to tell him I was pregnant,
standing in the kitchen of that apartment in Woodbury,
the first floor of a house,
shaded by oak trees,
old enough to have seen
its former glory,
before multiple pairs, young couples
who, like the seasons,
moved in and moved on,
but that day,
door and windows open
the summer
was warm with promise,
(or so I remember it),
nature—and I–bursting with life,
he tried to speak,
but couldn’t,
overcome,
his voice caught,
words tangled in salty threads of joy.
The baby is grown now,
and so is her sister,
they only got to know him for a short while,
he didn’t own a computer,
died before phones were smart,
but I amuse myself imagining him ranting on social media,
calling out the swamp monsters,
and adding heart emojis to photos of children and pets.
“Dear Dad,” I think
I’d love to talk to you again.
Day 16 of NaPoWriMo. The prompt was to write a letter.
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 
Oh Merril that is beautiful. Not sure I’d be able to do that, but I share your sentiments exactly.
Thank you, Jane. I didn’t think I was going to do this prompt, but then this just came to me.
I’m glad it did. Got me thinking.
So poignant, Merril. I’m so sorry you lost him so soon.
Thank you, Luanne. It’s been a long time now, but every one in a while, I just think of him this way. I guess our family dinner last night made me think of him.
I can imagine that would happen whenever something occurs that brings up a memory of your father. Our memories can be beautiful things.
Yes, you are right, Luanne. Thanks.
I identified completely with what you’ve written, Merril. I miss my father so much. Crying as I write this.
Thank you, Cindy–and I’m sorry. I may have been crying as I wrote this, even though my dad died years ago.
Lovely merril, think of him often. He is watching. My birth father passed before I started looking. No idea if he even knew I existed, but I can feel him now.
Thanks so much for reading and leaving your kind comment.
I imagine those “what ifs” with my father as well. He had no experience with computers, but had built radios and meters from kits, when he bought a PC in the early nineties. I was sans computers, but had dabbled with Commodore and Atari in the early eighties. I’m sure it as his way of strengthening a connection with me, and I helped him work his way through the command prompt system. I could just imagine him with today’s technology. Thank you for prompting me to think about that.
You’re welcome, Ken. I’m happy to have sent your memory off with a prompt. 🙂
That was so emotionally charged my breath caught in my throat. I’d love to talk to my wife again and let her know about the grandbabies she never met and how her own little baby i doing and especially how much I long to see her again.
xxx Massive Hugs Merril xxx
Thanks so much, dear David. Massive hugs back to you!
They’d so moving Merril. We can still make connections in our hearts and minds.
Thanks so much, Holly!
I loved this open and loving letter to your Dad, Merril. Aww, I felt a tug of my heart and tears forming.
As often it is, those who are gone are the ones we need most at times. ❤ Especially glad though, that my Dad died in January, 2001, so he missed all the horrors, shameful acts and decisions since then. . . He was so proud of our country.
Thank you, Robin. I’m glad this made me think of your own father.
I think everyone who lost a parent can relate to writing a letter or calling the missing loved one up. My Dad only videotaped my family once and his voice, his jumpy film making gets me sobbing. I hope you have a letter or card with words written, maybe a tape (?) to listen. . . Just making my way towards your current posts.
Thank you, Robin. I don’t have any audio messages or movies of him, but I have a few written things and lots of memories. ❤
I talk to my Dad too. Beautiful. (K)
Thanks so much, Kerfe.
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very heartfelt. lovely poem!
Thank you so much!
Beautiful Merril. Could relate to every word. Have written so many susc letters to my mum.
Thank you very much. I’m glad this resonated with you.
Such a deeply moving and poignant poem! Congratulations on being featured poet today — a much-deserved accolade.
Thank you so much!
Spent the morning with my Dad, who is nearly 80, but still so young inside. You reminded me how very very lucky I am. Thank you, lovely piece.
Thank you very much, Sarah. And all best to your dad. I hope you have many many more years with him!
Love how this unfolds and even though I sense early where it is heading it still has profound impact.
Thank you so much!
Congrats on the napowrimo feature!
Thank you very much. 🙂
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Obviously, this piece struck a chord with your growing chorus of followers, including me. One of your lines suggested that joy can have a salty tang, perhaps expressed through tears.
Thank you, Marian. Sometimes people cry when they’re happy, and memories can be bittersweet.
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I said this one was a good one 🙂 It obviously stands out for other people too. Congratulations on the feature!
Thank you, Jane! 🙂
This brought tears to my eyes, Merril. I miss my dad – and my mom – greatly. I regularly think how they might respond to everything going on in my life.
Thank you very much, Carol. I was teary-eyed writing it.
I’m glad my poem touched you.
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This tugs at my heart. There are times when I catch myself talking to my dad, as well.
I was just in Woodbury, CT last week visiting my friend, Matt, who has a WP blog. I’m sure you were writing about a different town, but that was interesting to read.
Thank you, Rose. This one seems to have struck a chord with many people.
That is funny–it was actually Woodbury, NJ. There are so many towns that settlers on this side of the Atlantic named for English towns.
I did reflect upon your own father while I read your letter to him, Merril. This brought me close to tears, tugging on my heart. I loved your words, as well as your “open and loving letter.”
Thank you very much, Robin!
👤
We were blessed with good and true men, who stood there, waiting for the race and participating actively in our lives. Time just flew on by.