There is a hillside I've kept in my heart
since you were born.
I can go there anytime I want
just to see you.
I keep it sunny and warm
with a floral breeze
and thick, deeply green grass.
It has a great view of the Ocean.
After Momma died
it was filled with darkness.
You were still there,
in the cold unwelcoming.
I had to grieve
before I could be the father I dreamed of being
again.
It took time,
and work.
I had to stretch myself
in new ways.
I still go there just to see you,
to watch you grow,
to look into your eyes.
We never speak,
we're just together.
I practice embracing the parts of you,
I sometimes don't like to see,
shining on you through each mood.
I make sure this place is
always ready to hold
every part of you.
I started bringing your sister here too,
as soon as she came into our lives,
but she was not the first.
You were the first,
the boy with a deep Ocean heart.
This is where I'll be
when it's my time to die,
surrounded by all of the people I have loved.
My children will be close to me,
and we will lie in the sun together
until I am gone.
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