Dear Isaac, #2

I read a love poem today and it made me think of both your mother, and of you.  E.E. Cummings wrote “[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]” in 1952, and in 2016, I share it with you:

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
                                                      i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Love,

Dad

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2015

I moved across the country.
I lost weight, and gained it back.
I read twenty-three books.  Not one of them was the one I promised to read.
I literally, “leaped for joy,” upon learning of my wife’s pregnancy.
I starred in a movie and made several.
My son taught me how to be a triceratops.  I taught him about bacon.
I was unemployed. “Sorry, we’re going in a cheaper direction.”
But, then I got a job.
I wore a tuxedo, and cried at a wedding.
But then my baby died.  I held him in my arms, only once, for fear I wouldn’t let him go again.
We put him in the ground, and I held my wife.
And, then I went to work.
I made new friends.
I tried new food.
I cried a lot. 
I began working on my novel again.  We’ll see how it works out.
I have not visited his grave.
Christmas is supposed to be a happy time of year.
All I want is for it to be September 8th, and for him to still be here.
But time is a constant.
Thanksgiving was good.
I’ve whispered “I love you” into my son’s ear, on a consistent basis.
I’ve watched Star Wars twice.
I’ll see it again, soon.
I don’t like resolutions.
But I will promise myself, this:

I will not stop.  I will continue.  I will learn how to breathe again.
I will make him proud.
I love you, Isaac.

Wunderlusting

Day Dreaming.  Gleaming what once I thought was real.  There, I wrote a poem.

I don’t know how to keep my monitor clean.  I always get specs of stuff on it.  What exactly this stuff is made of–I don’t know–but it’s there all the same.  I cover my mouth when I sneeze and I wipe ‘er down whenever I feel she needs a good dusting, and yet stuff seems to gravitate towards her magnificent 1920 x 1080 display.  I’m not a fan of metaphors, especially those so very directly on the nose, but here we are nonetheless.

Being a good husband.  A good father.  Employee.  Human being.  It takes time and obstacles, small and large, pleasant and annoying, all seem to cling to me and the path I’m trying to pave for myself; regardless, of how much time I endeavor to allot for myself to write.

[Please note, that when I say “write” this includes pacing, thinking to myself, going for a walk, and meditation…all things that I consider productive when trying to compose brilliance.]

So, I have decided I need to organize more.  After all, I’m male, and not the best multi-tasker.  Not to say men can’t multi-task, just not me.  I downloaded Wunderlist to help me organize my multiple projects, professional as well as personal.  With any luck I’ll be able to clear some of the unnecessary clutter from my plate, if not from my monitor.

Any other suggestions on how a non-multi-tasker can organize his/her time better?  Comment and let me know.

-T2