By Paul Wein
I can still remember special things.
Like finding cold milk and cereal on the table as you were sound asleep,
Having you with me on a class trip,
And singing songs together as we drove.
But I can’t remember the most important things.
Like what you sounded like when you told me you loved me,
Or what it felt like when you hugged me,
Or what it was like to have you in my life.
All I can do is remember the perfect father you were,
Thank God for the time He gave me with you,
Wish for just one more day,
And never get it.
I visit you when I can,
But a tombstone can’t talk back.
It can’t hold me and tell me it misses me.
All it can do is remind me of where you are.
It’s been 19 years, I’m now 28.
But for one moment each day,
I’m that little boy reaching for his daddy
Wondering why he’s not there.