Perfectionist Rehab

I woke on Thursday with a sense of dread,

I jumped at my alarm and grumbled in bed.

I inhaled deeply to raise my gumption,

Trying to dispel my heavy assumption.

I went through the motions,

Slathering on goo’s and potions,

Making breakfast for little dudes,

Brushing teeth and tying shoes.

We clambered down steps,

Regulating with deep breaths.

Nothing happened in our morning routine,

The feeling persisted, though ignorant of what it means.

I drove to my office, walked through the lot,

Stepped to the door but my coffee I forgot.

Noticing the mistake, I jog my way back,

Superstitious panic attack.

I believe when little misses occur in our day,

They’re intentionally guiding us astray,

To call attention, a sort of warning,

I knew it had to be an important morning.

I arrived at my desk,

Attempted to rest,

My heart hammered loud,

Jumped at every sound.

Restless and out stressed,

Why am I so pressed?

I was desperate to know,

That’s when my device glowed.

“My dad died this morning.”

Tragedy without warning.

I run to the café to call my spouse,

“I’m leaving now, I’ll see you at the house.”

Loss is a cavern yawning and wide,

Stalactites and mites piercing inside.

Bone chilling mists and dust-covered floor,

Frozen inside what happened before.

When the relationship was a barren landscape,

Grief still engulfs you, there is no escape.

My husband’s dad left him when he was but five,

And left in his wake an abyss inside.

The wound from a father is often missed,

Lacerations from mommy and what we for wished,

Are often the focus, I really don’t know why,

We ignore the pain of father’s goodbye.

One week prior my man and his dad,

Argued over events from when he was a lad.

Deflection. Dismissal.

Rebuttal. Sniffle.

“Someone made a mistake all those years ago,”

Thinly veiled accusation to salve his ego.

All my spouse wanted was an apology,

From his dad for the chronology.

Dad refused because in his head,

Son is to blame instead.

One week passed and Dad did too ruefully,

Naturally, Son skipped his eulogy.

Watching your spouse lose a parent,

Is difficult and inherent,

To share life’s end and beginning,

Lacerations from grief’s skinning.

I’m paralyzed watching the man I adore,

Experience pain that he ignores.

Indignation. Denial. Numb.

To sadness he will not succumb.

I’ve said it before but to reiterate,

My own parental separation was deliberate,

To protect myself from abuse,

I chose to live my life as a recluse.

My husband’s choice was more grim,

For it was made for him.

His family pushed him aside,

Favored a Club over being beside,

A man acting cannily,

Abandoned by his whole family.

Son is grieving though it’s complicated,

To miss a man that you’ve hated,

For refusing to be a present Dad,

Forever grieving what you’ve never had.

How do you say goodbye to a stranger?

How do you let go of the anger?

Dad doesn’t know his grandkids any more than his son,

We’re ignorant to all the things he has done.

Dad’s distance was never the Son’s choice,

Despite the dissonant voice,

Who accused and berated to avoid the blame,

Because Dad couldn’t handle the shame.

How do I help a man grieve,

Someone who always leaves?

The calcified wound reshaped the bone,

Forever altered, so why moan?

Dad’s gone forever, but he was never here,

It isn’t new for him to disappear.

How do I support this kind of ache?

Son still believes it was his mistake.