The Measure of Life
Several years have passed, an eternity, missing him.
I was not ready to say goodbye.
To look into those smiling, peaceful eyes and agree to letting go.
Some days my grief still darkens the hour.
Making sense of death, what purpose did he serve in life?
It was not the gifts of wealth or possessions.
“You can’t take it with you.” He said.
“We are rich in family and love, not in money.” He said.
I still think about what really matters after death?
We sprout leaves of possibilities on the vine of life, nourished, we bear a bounty of fruit.
Yet so many go unloved, withered expectations, fading hope.
I was nurtured, and take strength in my longing.
Could it be, love is the measure of a man?
My Father, gave more than most.
Comforted in the thought, his spirit is free.
Free of the ravages of cancer.
Free to dwell in our treasured memories.
I thank him completely.
A father, who gave us the best gift of all,