Poem for my Dad

This is the poem I wrote 11/18/04, a couple weeks after my father passed away.
* * * * *

Vision pushes outward and widens
from a drop of foam
on a single wave
to the span of solid ocean.

The water pulses,
a wave is created,
creating strength, moving forward,
perhaps to crash on the shore
or fade slowly away
dissolving once more to the ocean
that gave it birth.

Your wave was tall and beautiful
curving over me
even when I didn't see it.
Your wave pushed my little one along,
building from underneath.

You fade, I grow.
Another wave forms and dissolves,
ripples across an expansive ocean.
You dissolve
but the water is whole.

Kids

Kids...can't imagine life without them once you have them, although sometimes you can't imagine living another second with them without going mad. But I can't live without mine.

Evan tried to break the CD player. OK, maybe that was not his end goal. But he knew he shouldn't touch it. That, thrown in with the simultaneous screaming of Elia as I frantically try to dress her after her bath (before which she pee'ed all over me--how is it possible for that little baby bladder to hold so much pee?), drove me quickly in a yelling rant. I put him in his room immediately. After a minute, it was quiet. After five minutes, I thought, it's too quiet. I went in and saw him playing with his stuffed animals on the floor. OK, it's fine, I thought. Then he said, "Look, Maman," and proudly handed over two fabric circles from the wheels of the choo choo train I made from scratch that is on his wall. Calm, Karen, calm, I thought. "Why are you destroying the train I made you?" I asked, controlling my shaky voice.

"Because I'm the little boss," he said proudly, those big sparkly eyes full of the spark of defiance.

"You are staying in your room!" I yelled and shut the door, as he cried out behind me.

Then later...I brush his teeth. He looks at me. "Maman, can I touch your eyes?" I take of my glasses and he gently touches my eye lashes as I close my eyes. "Maman, can I touch your ears?" And his little fingers grapple my ears. "Can I touch your mouth? Your nose? Your chin?" His hands go all over my face. "Why do you want to do that?" I ask. "Because I love," he answers.

And I look in his little soft face, in his large, black-lashed blue eyes, and I want to bury my face in his cuteness. I don't see any manipulation, just purity, curiosity and closeness. I hug him, I hug him so fully.

That's how it is. I can get so angry, I can explode, but in a flash, I am melted by that innocence, that pure innocence and love that dissolves everything else.