Blue

In the “Writing Your Grief” group that I’m doing never know if I will write about Mike, my mom, or my dad.  It always seems that the person I’m supposed to be writing about comes to me when I start to write. This prompt is about my dad. This was the last photo that I took with him in June.

Blue

Blue eyes, staring at the ceiling.

Caught between two worlds, the living and the dead

Talking to the white ceiling to a world only you can see

Beautiful cornflower blue eyes that watched me grow up

That beamed at the children that you loved with all your heart.

That stared straight back at me when I was talking to you.

What I said mattered to you.

How your blue eyes would twinkle when you would share memories

Of your youth, matched only by the brilliance of your laugh.

So full of life until your age caught up with you

There was no escape from time or death.

I’m glad I got to sit next to you as you slowly faded away from me.

I treasured every last moment that I got to see those baby blues.

Even if you didn’t know I was there.