I watch my Father grieve,

Grieve as he pours hot water

stirs his tea, takes up the bag of chips

Buttons his red shirt over his beer belly. 

He explains, it has been a very hard day. Monday also, was hard. The hope is waining. White blood cells climbing. 

It is something that has not occurred to me before, that he will weep too. He is 

father, strong, able, not filled with emotion like I am—or so I thought. 

I half expected this would not be hard. 

But he attaches everyday to his Father. Like I would. Like I will. Wasting every minute sapping up all the minutes he can. 

I watch him wrestling, tightly inside, wound like a wire 

As we sit, all of our faces turned toward him like lilys, open around the table 

We learn to love our father more as we watch him lose his.