Father

It’s a cool quiet Saturday morning, a time to think about life,
Still drowsy from an evening of drinks and a restless sleep,
I sit and contemplate the second piece of my puzzle, my father,
The things he has taught me, and how he helped shape me,
Now elderly and unwell, he’s constantly in my thoughts,
He taught me to be a good man, and to work hard for my family,
To be honest, loyal, trustworthy and kind, although some may scoff,
He taught me to help others, whenever they may need it,
To do what I say, and be where I say I’m going to be,
Actions, not words, are the core foundation of being a man,
He taught me to protect and love my children against all odds,
To be tough, yet playful with them in equal amounts,
To pay my bills, pay my own way, and to not take advantage of others,
He gave me the opportunity and tools to succeed in life,
He ensured technology was available for me to learn and live easier,
He did his best to get me here, while carrying his inner pain silently,
His memories are leaving him now, and he seems fragile,
Not the once strong soldier, mechanic, truck driver, builder he was,
A life should be remembered, not stolen from your mind by sickness,
Sickness took his wife, took his hair, but never his dignity or humour,
He has seen and done so many things, and helped so many people,
And he rarely asked for help along the way, but time is a cruel mistress,
And she creates wraiths from mountains.