Mayday: A Daughter’s Poem to Her Father

“He’s fading fast.” Those 3 words I muttered as a plea to many back on the 26th of May. What a month May is, to the youngest of his; May holds Mother’s Day, her birthday, and her fathers chosen middle name. 
 
“He’s fading fast.” Those 3 words that haunt me at the close of each dreadful day; A mind that could paint a picture so bright, that was so full of light, is now morphing to a blue shade of grey.  
 
“He’s fading fast.” Those 3 words that snuck in to take my dear father away. I’m not sure how this will unfold, or even what tomorrow may hold, I just hope his mind can escape some of this new disarray.  
 
“He’s fading fast.” Those 3 words I strain could never be enough to convey; That my love for him, is enough to turn from sin, no matter how many of his memories decay.  
 
“He’s fading fast.” Those 3 words that seem to constantly be set on replay; While his precious memories go missin, and his mind and body won’t stop and listen, why can’t it just cooperate and obey? 
 
“He’s fading fast.” Those 3 words that I choke on, they get lodged in my airway. I will stay strong for my dad, refuse to let him know I’m sad, although this disease is putting up a fight and getting harder to downplay.  
 
“He’s fading fast.” Those 3 words that creep in while backing out of my childhood driveway. I get on 270, drive my mind in circles relentlessly, and try to find peace down that dark unforgiving highway.  
 
“He’s fading fast.” Those 3 words taste like a lousy dreaded Monday; As I hold back my tears, and I pray away my fears, only wishing we could go back to last Friday.  
 
“He’s fading fast.” Those 3 words that strap me down on the railway. Anticipating the pain, from this slow and predictable train, all while observing from the top of his spiral stairway.  
 
“He’s fading fast.” Those 3 words as bloody as a bottle of aged Cabernet; I may have had one too many, cuz this room started spinning, and my emotions are beginning to sway.  
 
“He’s fading fast.” Those 3 words as stale as closing time at an old school cafe; Which would still taste fresh, cuz I was there with my best, all those years ago at Hometown Buffet.  
 
“He’s fading fast.” Those 3 words I trembled out of my quivering lips in May; They’re still being spoken, while we all pretend we aren’t broken, I feel him leaving, though I know he’s fighting to stay.  
 
“He’s fading fast.” Those 3 words have become my thesis statement to each and every wish I pray. Although we are both feeling lost with our eyes frequently glossed, there isn’t a single day with him I would ever trade.  
 
“He’s fading fast.” Those 3 words that sing old church songs on a foggy Sunday. I didn’t know back then, as I don’t know now, but maybe this will all make more sense one day.  
 
“He’s fading fast.” Those 3 words that resemble a wilted bouquet, will steal so incredibly much, from all 14 of us, like the clouds that engulf a hot summer day.  
 
“He’s fading fast.” Those 3 words that swoop down in a flock, or words of prey: they invoke as much danger, turn loved ones to strangers, and their welcome they tend to overstay.  
 
“He’s fading fast.” Those 3 words that put each of our vulnerabilities on display. I guess they didn’t change much, in my eyes he’s even more tough, and I am honored to be his youngest protégé.  
 
“He’s fading fast.” Those 3 words that changed my life as I knew it in May, will hold the 4 syllables, 4 vowels, 9 consonants and 13 letters, that I’ll continue to pray I could just pray away.