Memories of My Father are Close Calls and Missed Opportunities

<p>A painted image of my soul could be<br /> The figure of a gnarled grand oak tree<br /> With roots planted in sordid history</p> <p>I am alive but barren and broken</p> <p>The past has secrets we&rsquo;ve never spoken<br /> Knowing the truth is a lucky token<br /> For those who wander, unafraid to ask<br /> Questions to answers they hope to unmask</p> <p>Knowing you was my impossible task</p> <p>Regret is indecision we swallow<br /> The bitterness of waste leaves us hollow<br /> To the grave, unspoken stories follow</p> <p>I learned we weren&rsquo;t so different at all<br /> After you died, and I could never again call</p> <p>The last time I saw Garry, I was four. I found him again when I was 27, in 2010. We emailed each other until I had my first son in 2015.</p> <p>Garry and I had been talking for a few years when he broached the subject of a meeting.</p> <p><a href="https://medium.com/the-memoirist/memories-of-my-father-are-close-calls-and-missed-opportunities-eb4687e6c615"><strong>Click Here</strong></a></p>
Tags: Memories