In memory of a father

For my dear friend LS and in honour of the memory of his father

You told me that long ago
your dad used to take you
down to the dock
to draw ships -
and I picture you, in awe,
as your dad would sketch them
mast to mast, leaning, tipped
in the wind.

You used to have your adolescent moments,
you admitted, when your dad
would pull you sternly from parties
and chastise you
because he cared
more than he dared
to openly say.

But what I remember most
is how you said,
not too long ago,
that one day you would be your dad -
and that you hoped for it,
as you realized who he was
and how proud he was of you.

At your graduation your dad
sat poised with his video camera,
ready to capture your walk
across the stage -
and across the gap from boy
to man.
He was so excited that
he couldn't lean back in his seat,
afraid he'd miss your moment;
As each graduate crossed the stage,
he nudged me,
asking, again,
"Is it him?"

The years pulled you together
despite the distance
between Calgary and Thunder Bay -
and every time you spoke of him
I could hear the love, the pride
and the infinite hope
you held for your dad,
and there was nothing, it seemed,
that you did not tell him about.

And then just recently you told me
that your dad had passed
and you being you,
the news was practical and factual,
and your voice never wavered,
never broke,
even though I know your heart must have,
a hundred times over.

I wish I knew him better, your dad.
He was always so good to me,
so warm, so friendly.
For all the love I bear you,
I could not make it better,
I never could,
and I don't think
you expect me to.

And although I know these words
are not much,
I send them into being
to fill a tiny corner here
in the memory
of your dad,
hoping that you feel my love
and know that it is because
I know how much he meant to you.

Perhaps one day
you can take your son
and draw ships
at the dock
together.