Ode to My Father: For the Man Who Was with Me All Those Years in Hiding
Oh how we miss our father, who left my sister and I to be with our Mother and Brother only four months ago.
I found myself standing in the dark of the living room tonight, my arms stretched up, reaching, reaching hard with intent, up and up, and into what use to be the warm embrace of my father. I kept it up until I had almost convinced myself that I could still feel the anchor of what it was like when he was holding me or hugging me before saying a farewell.
I said my Thank yous to him for the hug, right there, and turned into our kitchen where this poem has been, unmoved, on the refrigerator, for all of us to read and reread. My nine-year-old Lorenzo said tonight, “Who wrote that poem?” “Grandfather wrote it, Lorenzo.” He looked so happy when he replied, “Well, it is very very good!”
So, tonight, I share my Father, the journalist, the writer, the man of the highest character, with you, who has been such a vital part in graciously piecing me back together, in hopes that you will strive to see YOUR LIGHT long before you ask yourself where it is.
I was honored to join my Father in his journey to the light. I only wish he had seen it every day, for it is there for all of us, every moment of our lives.
It seems so right to send this to you now. We are in this … of this … same question … that my father asked as a young man serving in WWII.
See the light at the end? See the light this very moment?
Much Love,
Kathryn Keats
World War II
Written by John Munger
US Army, 1941-46
How long is this tunnel
We ask as we enter
All poured from a funnel,
The young front and center.
And when will you tell us
How far we’ll have traveled?
What dangers to fell us
Or leave lives unraveled?
Only questions bounce back
As we plod down the dark
Through time off the track
And tomorrows all stark.
Years go by; the end is where?
The, sunset ‘round the bend!
Answered at last: “You are there!”
See the light at the end?
