Gone

A man I knew died last night:

I wish I knew him better, I didn’t truly know him my whole life.

He didn’t die well:

I don’t believe It was the death he would have chosen, like his life.

He died quietly and alone:

He did not take the spectacular hero’s demise in flaming glory.

Or is that the death I want?

Maybe it was enough for him, and he died satisfied with a steadfast life?

He was a provider:

His family never wanted for food or shelter, their needs always met.

He was not a lover.

His was a life of restraint and control, not of warmth and compassion.

He was a good man.

He did what he thought to be right, innocent because he was taught the same.

He was a bad man.

Because every man has their own amount of evil that they must contain.

He was not an adventurer:

He was not a pirate sailing the seven seas in search of his life’s treasure.

His treasure was his own:

A bounty of what riches only he knew, a mystery to any others.

He was a creator:

Not of frivolous artistic form, but of the machinery of function and purpose.

He was capable:

His hands like stone, as tough as the expectation he held of self and others.

He was proud:

Of what he was capable, and for things not shared but visible in his presence.

He was a hard man:

He was as hard as iron, and forged by a father forged of the same metal.

He was a role model:

His work ethic would become my virtue, as highly prized as the strength he taught.

He was a husband:

It is not my place to judge but the place of his lover.

He was a teacher:

Some lessons easily learned, some painful to carry, but all to forge my identity.

He was a father:

For which he has been loved, respected, resented, feared, and forgiven.

He was my father.