November 1st, 1989

This isn’t a post about photography. It is a post about life and the loss of Life. My father passed away at midnight on November 1st, 1989 after a year-long battle with cancer. I wrote this poem on the sleepless evening before is funeral.

 

 

Yesterday-during the wake I felt a need to look at the casket.

But what is the use- as now all that remains is an empty shell.

Like some creatures which shed their skin- my father still lives in my memory.

I can picture his face, his smile, his clothes, how he would sit and how he would sleep.

I can also remember the favorite expressions, foods, idiosynchricies and most importantly our happiness and times together.

So as long as I can remember these details- my father is not dead.

Through the passage of time some details will be forgotten, but my father doesn’t die until the last detail is forgotten.

1987-02-B4 1985-08-A17