The bridge to my son is difficult —
An assembly of quirks, twitches, snatches of
Television dialog laid out and lashed together with
Green and blue pills taken once daily. There are
Boards missing, replaced with acronyms;
Plans written down, filed and
Forgotten. He could be an island entire and to himself.

But Uncle Larry visited often,
With careful steps, listening, looking.
Took him camping with all the right foods,
Noted when he stopped eating ketchup,
Tracked his interest in maps,
Fed his love of fishing and trails.

Now my uncle’s trail becomes unclear, the path fogs, the
Cancer spreads soft rot and splinters the boards
And there is nothing I can do to thank him for loving my son.

If I could lift this fog,
I would bring new boards. My son would carry them.
They would canoe into an open lake sunrise.
There would be moose and otters.
Uncle Larry would guide the boat to the best fishing spots,
I would see him smile on a spring trail once more,
Life exploding green with energy all around him.

My uncle Larry died this morning (January 12, 2018). It is difficult to express how much our family will miss him, but I am sharing this poem I wrote for him in December, shortly after he entered hospice care. He was truly a person who graced the lives of all those around him, and I am so very thankful to have had him as part of our family. Love to all who are missing him — especially to my amazing Aunt Sue.