Who knows

Touch is too often lost.

Touch is too easily missed.

We stand and wait and want and let it go by.

Touch was there to say thanks.

But I hate good-byes.

And I missed my chance.

Another One Shot Poem Attempt

Tears tumble from the outside corners of my eyes.

I'm not committed to giving up.

The insides glisten but do not fall.

I can't keep them in much longer.

My rage and bravado have turned to sentiment.

I am in the middle.

I am happy to let go.

Sadness and Beauty (For Glen)

Every sadness illuminates the beauty of life.

Glen was beautiful.

In my heart, in my perception, in my memory, he still is. Glen was someone whose influence on my life outstripped his time in my life.

Glen passed away awhile ago. I still know none of the details. My intellect wants to know. My wisdom understands the mechanism is pointless.

Glen was beautiful, and now he is gone.

But, of course, he isn't.

Glen has friends and family and children.

I don't know his children well. I know their mother more. Although Glen and Debbie were parted from each other, they are together in my imagination. They came into my life when I was becoming who I am. In our lives punctuated by rapid change and long equilibriums, this was a period of profound growth.

It was a difficult time for me. 

Transitions are always dangerous.

I was lonely and afraid and acted more confident than I was. Their example of calm and peaceful love I carry still. They were apart when Glen passed, which meant it wasn't always calm and peaceful. But, I know Glen was a wonderful and present father. Their divorce didn't define them. Parenting was more important.

Glen's beauty was defined by his relationships.

I've rarely met anyone so happy and comfortable being a Dad. I know few men who are as comfortable in themselves, without resorting to masculine stereotypes and clichés.

Maybe this was all a lie. Glen clearly had secrets. In the end his secrets were more like demons than the relatively benign monsters we all make friends with.

But, to me, this was a truth. Glen's loving countenance is always how I remember him. I remember Debbie and Glen as the adults in our group. He was quiet and solid and there to help you move, as a man should be. She was sweet and caustically funny and there to help you in every other way she could. She also reminded us that people had real responsibilities - children - when we fought over which pub to go to on a Tuesday night, as we pushed our adolescent years into the third decade of life.

Together they formed a stepping stone in my journey. Without them, I am not sure who I (and we) are today. In a twist of fate I am well used to, neither are part of my life today.

Except, both are with me still.

Thank you, and I'm sorry. 

My Job

I'm sorry.

I wish I could be with you always. 

I can't. 

Maybe I don't wish it. 

It is an important lesson. 

And, without intent to cop-out of my job, I always will be with you. You are half me. I mean that literally. I don't mean that in the horse-shit made up meaning of emphasizing a point kind of way. I am literally half of you: biologically, culturally, sociologically, spiritually, mathematically (some of those aren't true).

But still, my job is hard. 

It is my job to die. 

And it breaks my heart more than yours. My job is to know you more than anyone else in the world, and then take that away from you.

It is my job to die. 

My job is to see you born, see you become a conscious toddler, figure out the word 'NO!!!!"', figure out 'sorry', 'yes' and 'I love you'. It is my job to see you join our social family.

It is my job to protect you, and then let you be hurt, while still protecting you.

It is my job to die.

One day, you'll be grown men with flaws and gifts and perspective. It will be my job to shatter your world. It will be my job to end the illusion of a world without end. Grandparents come and go, although you never met all of yours. They are small lessons.

My lesson is large.

It is my job to die.

It is my job to walk a path you cannot avoid. It is my job to face certain uncertainty with grace, dignity and love. My Dad did it before me, my Mom will do it one day. It is a job only a parent can appreciate.

I've seen parents follow their children into the unknown. They end at the moment of their child's passing. They never remain amongst us living. Life is always half over for them. Dying first is my gift.

It is my job to die.

I would do it intentionally, unintentionally, accidentally, on purpose, with reason, with faith, without reason, without faith.

I love you, and always will. I am sorry for what I must do. I am sorry I must cause you pain and loss and sadness. I wish it was my job to make you happy and satisfied and calm forever. It isn't. My job revolves around your peace and well-being.

It is my job to die.

To those who know you more than you know yourself

I was young(ish) and running. I was fighting against my instincts and my biology and trying to get into running shape.

Later, I remember talking to my Mom over the phone and her saying "you sound wheezy".

I was pissed.

She didn't know who I was anymore.

I was a college educated grad student. I was a young man with dreams bigger than our small town and our family.

She couldn't know what was happening inside me half a continent away, over a phone call check-in.

But, of course she did.

She is my Mom.

Also, her understanding is a product of second-order observation. I discovered this idea later in grad school and suddenly the world made more sense. We can't know ourselves as well as those who really know us because we only see the world in front of us.

Moms see more. They see us, and the people we interact with and the results of our interactions. We only see part of that story. We experience first-order observations. Second-order observations of ourselves are the things of Moms and Dads and friends.

It's incredibly annoying.

It's also the best gift they can give you.

When your Mom, or wife, or partner or best friend says "You seem tired, or stressed or sick or happy....." go ahead and believe them. They see you in a way you don't see yourself.

The inverse is also true if you open your eyes and your mind.  A lot of us Dads don't do that. But Moms almost universally do. Their presence is intoxicated by the reality of their children. They are bracketed by the insistence of their partner's life.

They are the centre of it all. They are an eternal return for each of us.

It may sound a little Freudian, but Moms are replaced by our partners. It's not in a creepy way though. They are simply the people who see us for who we really are. They see us, they see the world as it changes through us. We are often blind to much of this.

Our Moms and partners and closest friends are the corrective lenses for our lives. We only get to decide if we want to listen to what they see.

My Mom was right during that phone call, as my partner is so many times now........although I almost always default to no and claim something else.

In short, thank you Mom. And Happy Mother's Day.

You were almost always right, and someday I'll remember that too.

To my friends I love and don't talk to much

As the title suggests, I love you.

My past is with me always. Even when I shudder at your choices in the moment, I love you then and now and later.

My present emerges from before. My past, you, are always at my shoulder. I loved you then and now and always.

Our differences are in scale, not in scope.

My future only exists with you. You define and categorize who I am. At times you infuriate me. At times I shake my head. At times I must accept I do the same to you.

My always exists with you. You are a foundation, a pillar, a touchstone. You are a piece of the forever me. You are a reminder of who I ought to be.

Please let me be that thing for you as well.

One shot poem attempt

This might be shit, but I'm gonna try:

In the middle you just keep swimming.
Keep putting your head down and trying.
Keeping lifting your head up for breath.

Life is that simple and that hard.

Try.

Don't focus on results.

Results are a madness of time and place and luck.
The here and now are all we have.
The forever is a roll of dice.

I'm not sure this is any good.

Fuck it.
I'm done.

Sure Signs You've Entered Middle-Age

It's hard to know if you're an adult.

And, it's especially hard to know when you've really grown-up.

So, I've put together a few easy indicators to let you know that you are middle-aged and can forget about the ifs and whens.

1) When someone asks your age you have to do math.

2) Per square inch your body hair has increased, but in all the wrong places. (Note: this indicator skews male).

3) Learning stuff, especially new pronouns, sends you into a frothing rage.

4) You wake up in the middle of the night and can't get back to sleep because you think you might have forgotten your high school locker combination.
 - Not a problem for me: 59-27-14

5) Sex, like Communism, is a great idea in theory.

6) You see a Dad bod meme and think, "I used to be that ripped".

7) You still use "ripped".

8) You are sure music, films, t.v. and video games were all better when you were a kid.

9) You have forgotten about New Kids on the Block, Police Academy, Joanie Loves Chachi and Dig Dug.

10) Your life is more taken with ruminating, nostalgia and 'what may have been' than what might come to pass.

11) You still think Jordan was better than Lebron, Gretzky was better than Crosby and Messi needs to win a World Cup to really prove his greatness.

12) The mirror is your sworn enemy.

13) A few times per year you hear about a massive cultural event and have no idea what is going on.

14) You worry a lot about fibre.

15) Sitting on the floor is restricted to a board game with your kids, or a half hour situation comedy. A full movie on the floor leaves you as sore as a workout used to.

16) You are so unconcerned with impressing people that you only shower when you start to itch.

17) You can no longer distinguish anyone between 15 and 25 and think of them all as cute little kids.

18) You've had at least one parent die and one serious health scare and you fully understand and are okay with the end game being death. You find this takes a lot of pressure off.

19) You're pretty sure with a break here, or a little luck there, you could have been famous and rich and important.

20) You can no longer watch a Pixar movie without weeping.

21) You absolutely refuse to call Star Wars "Episode IV" Because IT IS GD FUCKING STAR WARS!!!!!!!!!

22) You think Yoda's syntax is fine.

23) You remember when you could stump the Internet.

24) Every decade you think, 40 isn't that old, 50 isn't that old, 60 isn't.......

25) You are pretty sure kids these days are terrible, only because you don't remember all the idiot children you grew up with (and probably were).

26) At least once per month you learn of a massive cultural phenomenon which you've never heard of and are totally baffled by.

27) You tend to repeat yourself.

28) You don't care about ending lists on even round numbers.