You were a dandelion-

Three seeds of white that brought

Beauty and joy

In their own special way

To your stem

They made you proud enough to flourish and thrive and rage in bright, vivid yellow

But one day, a gust of wind

Ripped the oldest seed from your grasp

It left a pit in your heart

That can never be replaced

No matter how much you try

The hole is a constant reminder of the missing

But in the cavity, you still have the memories:

The joy it brought you when you saw it outlined against the moon

The way the sun reflected off its fluffy tendrils in the early morning

The way it made you feel when it tickled you

The way it drooped in the rain, but you were always there to dry it off and pick it back up

You feel you've lost a part of you

A special piece that you will never forget

And in a way, that's true

But little did you know

That your seed sailed away

On that gust of wind

And landed next

To a stream

In a forest

It's surrounded

By wildflowers

And fish and deer

It soaks in the dappled sunlight and

Drinks from the stream

And it is happy and thinks of you

And all that you've done for it

It still sees you on the surface of the pebbles in the water

And smells you in the damp fertile dirt

Neither of you will ever forget the other-

And that is how it was meant to be

The mightiest man I ever did know.

The finest father, you helped me to grow.

The hospital bed: clinical, crisp, pressed.

Your resting place. My heart restless. A mess.

The chair by your side, where I held your hand.

My place of regret at the separateness of man.

The asthmatic opposite, gasping for air.

An obvious reflection: my feelings laid bare.

Your young granddaughter: quiet, suspicious.

You appeared strange, cachectic, unfamiliar.

The tears streaming, rarely seen on your face.

Never again to see her once she left that place.

The clinical judgement, a crushing blow.

Clinging to hope, but soon time to let go.

Our conversations in those awful last days.

Overdue exchanges of gratitude, feelings, praise.

The early morning call, you were breathing your last.

The drive to the hospital. We arrived. You'd passed.

That peacock in your garden was no hallucination.

Turns out it was your herald of heavenly ascension.