IT'S OCTOBER 10TH, 2015, AND I STILL MISS YOU

My father, Jerry Anderson, died on this date six years ago from complications of chronic lymphocytic leukemia.

I wrote this poem on his next birthday because I missed him.

I still miss him.

(***Update 12/2015: This weekend I went through a few boxes of my mother's carefully saved items. In one box I found every card my dad ever sent her. Made me miss him all over again***)

Happy Birthday from your Not-So-Little Girl

  

You wore the uniform of the elderly

A band-aid on your elbow and a striped polo tee

A dark belt hiking up your faded old slacks

Your basement packed with things from the past

Inside your clothes

There was too much room

You had never been this skinny

You had never been so cold

I will never again hear your stories retold

Now that you’re gone

I see you everywhere

In slow moving vans

Pocket protectors and grey hair

But none of these strangers have your sputtering laugh

Or twenty-five napkins of penned physics graphs

None of them read me the Little House books

Or made TV dinners when Mom couldn’t cook

You ate Quaker Oat Squares

Sat on cracked vinyl chairs                                                                          

Used felt tipped pens

Had church choir friends

Liked big band tunes

Duct-taped vacuums

But now your basement is empty

And your clothes have been donated

There’s no more chocolate cake for your birthday

And I don’t feel like your little girl anymore

To help other families battling blood cancers, I'm working with Team in Training and the Leukemia & Lymphoma.

If you'd like to donate, here is my FUNDRAISING PAGE.