The Mother of My Father





The mother of my father was always a good listener...



There’s a whisper in this wind.

I can sometimes hear the sweet memories of the past.

I can still hear your laughter in this room.

But I know that it’s only memories.

Because you’re gone…





The mother of my father was always a good observer…



There’s an image on the mountain.

I can sometimes see you when I look in the mirror.

I inherited your glasses and I can still see you looking through them.

But I know that it’s only memories.

Because you’re gone…





The mother of my father was always a good cook…



There’s a scent in the forest.

I can sometimes smell your perfume after a long rain.

I can still smell your perfectly made breakfast when I wake.

But I know that it’s only memories…

Because you’re gone…



But whispers now turn to the sound of birds, flapping their mighty wings.

I listened like you always did.

You loved birds.

I remember that.



The image on the mountain reflects the sunset, encompassing beauty no man could duplicate.

I watched like you always did.

You loved sunsets.

I remember that.



The scent of the forests, give way to gentle fragrance of flowers.

I savored the scent like you always did.

You loved flowers.

I remember that.



And it is in this moment that I realize,

My memories count for something.

It’s my memories that allow me to see,

That you never left me.



The mother of my father IS my guardian angel.



You once told me that we never truly leave the things we love..

You said that when we died, we lived within all the things we ever loved.

You loved me.

I remember that.