One day a rock dropped into my path,
replacing sunshine, laughter and the scent of ripening fruit
with disbelief, horror and darkness.
I knelt there, wetting it with my tears,
wishing I could thrust it away from me,
knowing it was there to stay.
One day I knew I had to get up.
I picked up the rock and trudged on,
its weight straining my shoulders,
its rough surface scratching my arms.
Cumbersome, awkward and heavy,
my tears dripping off the sharp edges.
One day my arms were needed for other things
and I pushed the rock into my pocket.
It weighed me down, pulling on my clothing,
setting me off balance.
I lumbered along,
teetering and stumbling now and again.
One day I forgot it was there for a time.
The sun was out and I popped a ripe blackberry in my mouth,
laughing with my children.
I put my hand in my pocket and found it there,
pulled it out and felt its weight.
It glimmered in the sunlight, shiny with sweet memories
and smoothed from my tears.
I put it back in my pocket,
letting it mingle with the kleenex, chapstick and loose change.
It is mine to hold, to carry with me
until I see his face again,
Love and miss you Dad. Until we meet again.