Forgetting by Peter Sinclair He sat and stared into my face, I was a stranger sitting there and I knew if I got up and left, he just wouldn’t give a care how could a man I called dad, not recognize his son I could not get it through my head, he was always full of fun At first he just forgot the little things, birthdays and the odd name then we realized it was serious, when home he never came you’d sometimes find him normal, sometimes with eyes all glazed it was hard to see the man he was, and his mind us once amazed my dad sat there before me, though not the man I knew I’d prey for recognition, just a glimmer of the man would do I’d think of all the things we done, all he thought me over years and now I looked on this empty shell that brought my eyes to tears I hope the man forgives me, for hoping that he’d die not because he had dementia or for making my eyes cry but because he had great dignity and his reflection he would despise and a son who could not look at all the pity in others eyes
Posted on: Tue, 08 Oct 2013 11:19:29 +0000
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