My dad wrote this poem for Easter two years ago - 8 months after his initial diagnosis with stage IV prostate cancer. It wasn't his last Easter with us at that time, but this year it was. I recorded this video of my dad reading the poem a few weeks before his death. His absence leaves a huge hole in our lives, but the hole is not empty..."it is filled by the futures, taking place."
This is likely my last Easter here, with you all.
Timothy's on his way back to the conservatory in Cincinnati,
with Jordan and her parents, leaving a brother-sized hole
for Deborah to grow into.
She's driving already, and going to Liberia with Sharon,
if they, indeed, get there, on beyond the mandalas and spiritual growth.
They'll leave Andy with a hole, larger than the size of a Bear,
to fill for a while.
Luke and Joshua, Chris and Debbie,
may be going to a new home,
eating with old and new friends, working in new places,
playing basketball, taking care of snakes and science,
roaring with laughter.
I have many holes, too,
a cerebral-vascular accident, mild aphasia, right-sided weakness,
permanent pacemaker for bradycardia,
indwelling Foley catheter,
stage four prostate cancer, bone metastasis, stabilized with Lupron.
I cry a little.
Practicing on little holes,
I'm getting ready for bigger ones to come.
But they are not empty.
They are being filled by the futures, taking place.
Leonard H. Seyfarth