This is a poem I wrote to, in my own strange way, deal with my father's death. A lot of people say that I haven't dealt with it yet, and perhaps they are, at least partially, correct. I think what it really boils down to is that I did deal with it, just not in the conventional way. I have my reasons for why I did it the way I did. Only if you can get a look at my point of view, can you have any chance of understanding why. I have never let any one read this poem, and only one living, breathing soul (Lisa, you gave me the courage to include this!) has ever heard it. Maybe I should let you read for yourself, and I'll finish this at the end.

Every year at Christmas I have a problem with the untimely passing of my father. At 44 years old, he was in my opinion, in the prime of his life. Like every other teenager in America, I gave him nothing but grief until I graduated high school, and had only just learned of the knowledge to be gained from his insight. When I was finally ready to listen, he was no longer abailable. To add insult to injury, I was stationed overseas with the USMC at the time of his departuure. Needless to say, I sorta went off the deep end. I turned to any vice I could find so I wouldn't have to deal with, or even fathom the thought of what had happened.
I eventually wrote this poem, to keep myself from biting a bullet of my own. Believe me, the thoughts still run amuck throughout the year, but every time I need it (or him!), usually at Christmas, I pull this poem out to renew the reason I have to keep moving forward.