Lonesome Valley

Some others know – faith’s journey I must walk
Through this few weeks till we again can talk
Thus it may be through all this journey brief
To life again or death’s short walk of grief.

If it’s to death, I wonder of you, dad –
And those last years of life – you were not sad –
Lived vibrantly, gave life, and lived and grew
You loved us so – without this constant stew.

You lived unknowing, as you walked towards death,
Each six days worked, enjoyed then Sabbath rest,
You cleaned the mess without a motive drear
Just walked each mile, each day, with vision clear.

I hate to clean, or make each Sabbath pause –
I clean for them, detracting from my cause
Not knowing drags within this life of known
Yet for us both – the same – the cancer’s sown.

But in both cases, how much do we know?
Just of one risk, yet each could die of blow
From truck some day as we attend our life
My worry wasted – you devoid of strife.

It strikes me strange how much my life has changed
This year of hell through which my thought has ranged
From numbing shock, speed bump and gratitude,
The error made, then tier of treatment rude –

Horizon’s hope foreshortening to my eyes,
‘Short journey here or destined for the skies?’
A brief reprieve, morphed into ups and downs,
New questions raised of life within such bounds.

But, if to life – then knowing is my luck
Those twenty years you’d wanted opened up
Perhaps I’ll walk them now not just for me
But for us both, and blind – just as for thee.