Dave

It's been a year, two months, and a week since I lost my step dad, Dave. The fact that it happened is always lingering in my head. I thought as time passed I'd be able to say his name without my eyes tearing up, but I was wrong. Every time I went out to the garden it was ok because something out there was alive. Now that the garden is fading so is my grip on the subject.

The pictures we drew on my cement wall on the year anniversary is fading; the cucumbers, that seemed to grow no matter their condition, finally gave out; the corn that stood up so proudly and straight, are scrawny and falling over; the cabbage that looked healthy was really rotting on the inside; the tomatoes are still pushing, they're for the most part green, but growing bigger;  the onions are still there, but are being ignored, every time I look out there I see this and think of Dave. The wall holds all the memories; the cucumbers are his effort to fight the disease he had; the corn is his confidence that got lost when things got bad; the cabbage being his body eating himself away; the tomatoes being the disease; the onions being my feelings about the topic.

I knew the garden was going to fade inevitably, and I know every life gives in eventually, but the garden will come back and he won't. Which is one of the most devastating realizations I've had.

I read this poem and it talks about death being literally everywhere. It's all around waiting for its time to take you, to take him. Death was around for years and Dave being who he was flipped him off and went on with his life. Dave didn't care that he had a disease, he lived as much as he could. He never let death get in the way of his life, but eventually death got tired of seeing the finger and took him. Death is unfortunately a part of life, and no matter the day his name will always put a weight on my chest.

Work Cited
Mark R Slaughter. "It's Death Again." Poem Hunter. N.p. 2009. Web. 2 Nov. 2014.