We pass his house everyday and see his car.
His usual spot that never changes

When we're in a rush and can’t stop by we look for his car
It’s usually there.

When we call his house and he doesn’t pick up
And he doesn’t call back we start to worry

We know his car is their, but were is he?
The question that never is answered until
The phone rings and it’s the hospital
He’s sick again
This time I think not much of it, because it happens often

Then I go to see him and he looks very bad,
He’s skinner than I remembered
He’s sleepier than I remembered
He’s sicker than I remembered
He’s weaker than I remembered
He’s sadder than I remembered

I thought he might get better
The questions he asked, I could not answer.
I wish I could answer them now and let him know.

He called me cookie once before and at the hospital
I will never forget when he responded.

Those words I will never forget.His ways I will never forget
And at the funeral I was the only one who did not cry
Sometimes I’m mad at myself for not crying.
My dad says it’s ok. Its ok, I think how can this be ok, I do this all of the time, but after awhile the smallest thing will make me cry and I really don’t know why.

He was brave and never afraid.
So…. Maybe he wasn’t afraid to go to heaven and maybe he knew it was coming, or maybe he was waiting for his time to leave. That I will never know.

by Falon SeibertBurns

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