It's been nice sharing some poetry with you this month. If it's not been your thing, I'm sorry. I'll be back in March with more new content.
Tomorrow, three years after the passing of my father, Luther L. Tittle, my brother and I will scatter his ashes in the creek where he grew up swimming as a child. This cold time of the year, I suppose, will always be filled with memories of him as he was born at the end of January and died at the end of February. I imagine, with every passing year, it will get easier, but I thought a little poem that sheds light on a tenth of his love of life and laughter was appropriate.
If you still have your fathers, and they have earned being honored, cling to them. Try to etch in your mind all they've taught you. Over time, memory fades or becomes distorted. This is the natural course with our brains, so there's nothing inherently wrong with that— in fact it's best if some memories fade away as long as the good ones remain at the forefront.
To Dad.
Your Spirit Eternal
Trying to think of your phrases—
"mean as a strip-ed black snake,"
"a dying calf in a hailstorm"—
but as my memory fades,
I lose more of your light.
Three years without you,
I’ve watched those you left behind
still process the pain.
Easier for some,
devastating for others.
Your smile has not been forgotten,
neither have your dreams of
sunny days in the crick,
gravy at a breakfast café,
laughter and deep affection.
We soon commit you to the crick.
The place where you swam
as a boy in a coal mining township.
Mom is finally ready to let go.
For me, it is an inevitability.
I hope we’ve done well by you.
I hope you’re like the lucky ol’ sun
with nothing to do but roll ‘round the Heavens.
Ashes may turn to ashes, yes,
but your spirit is eternal.
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