In The Words of My Sons -Series-


My love has left, his soul carried in the springs breeze,

and his earthly body blanketed by the tepid soil of the season.

My husband, my love, was a presence that was larger than life.

His love bountiful, his laugh gregarious, his touch firm, but gentle in his caress,

and his rage as savage as the scars which painted his body.

A man who donned a veritable medley of hats and occupations, his heart never truly rested…

until his final breath.

Though I was not the love of his life, he was a, if not the, greatest love of mine.

His touch made me swoon, his laugh encapsulated joy itself, and his kiss released chemicals in me

that I could never fathom.

A man, no a person, who held passion and fury in his heart as he did, could never be described

by simple phrases as good or bad, he was a man consumed by both his love and disdain of life.

The scars across his body were merely a reflection of the open wounds of his heart.

Yet, through the pain and years we shared together, our four seeds grew into four Great Oaks.

While my love touched my life in ways I could never truly put to words,

our sons were tended to by father and mother who were just as human as they were.

We had no idea where the world would take us, or what it would do to them.

We all gathered at the home we all shared, four men and one woman who were touched the most by this man,

by their father.

Some of my boys haven’t spoken to him in years, some haven’t spoken to each other for an even longer period of time.

I wanted them each to come with their own words about their father.

I asked them each to write an obituary and I would see which one I wanted to publish.

So we gathered once more, under one roof, in a small room, to air out grievances and to decide.

Decide what words we could put to paper

that might sum up the man who meant so much to us; for better and worse.

So I listened about my love… in the words of my sons.

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