Almost Stranger

An almost-stranger
called me to the hospital
And I rode with my family
Nearer-knowing the reality
than I thought.
I walked through old familiar halls,
Remembering a bout with pneumonia and
Family brushes with car wrecks and cancer.
And then I found my mother--
Weeping,
Tissue box in hand.
“He’s gone,” she said.
And I looked around for my children
And wondered how they would be
Affected by the news.
We sat
And waited
for God only knows what.
And the coroner came and took us in a room
To see him,
that grey, husk of a man.
How could they say that he--
that cold man
Is my father?
I shed a tear or two
And made decisions
Right and wrong
Dreading the day when I would grieve.
Days and weeks passed,
Years came and went,
And I,
Was left to wonder
How you can miss someone
You never had . . .

Reviews

[Deuces]

The last line delivers the fiercest punch, as you describe all in one shot. Lines like "almost stranger" leave the reader in suspense until the very end, when it is realized that the raw truth is that the relationship is not as close as the writer would have hoped. This is extremely honest, painfully naked in thought and beautifully written. Takes a lot of guts to reveal these emotions and write well simultaneously.

[Phibby Venable]

this is a fine work & reflects a great deal of depth. it touches the heart.
he left a fine daughter behind, that is his legacy. good work.

[Jenny Davis]

This is such an emotional write, so cleaning and honest. Like one other review said, I got chills when I got towards the end as I was both saddened and shocked by the question...a very good, important piece :)

[Creepy Swine Guy]

The first line gave me pause to be suspicious. How often do we write a poem about someone who is not somehow burned into our souls (for better or worse) I felt for you deeply as I read the end. I've known people who saw their parents as strangers whom they'd love to get to know.

I like it for it's poetic quality, but I hate it for the hurt that it holds.

[Raef C. Boylan]

The two hyphenated phrases work well, ocurring so close together: "An almost-stranger"..."Nearer-knowing".
I would have loved there to be another one, maybe nearer the end, but some things are not meant to be I guess.
The way you've written this is perfect, from short-line layout to the distanced tone betraying the narrator's confused emotive state; it's straightforward and kind of bleak, while being lovely at the same time, because your poetic voice is present and it's endearing. This piece is very human, which is also part of the appeal; you haven't romanticised, you've told it how it is.

I think you said a while ago that you were considering writing this piece but didn't know how(?)
Glad you found the how.

Thanks for posting this.

[J]

This touches me on a very personal level... I met my biological father once when I was 13... the last time was when I was 4, back in the Philippines (before I moved here to NZ)... and even then, I have non-existent memories. When I met him at 13, I didn't know what to say... I felt no love or dislike... just emptiness towards this man. Nothing. And I could tell he was hurt by that, but could I pretend otherwise? It's never been in me to be like that. And would I feel the same emptiness if he was on his deathbed? No, there'd be a tinge... of sorrow and regret, for what could have beens and what ifs and maybes and possiblys, but never anything concrete and real.

Sorry to blab. I feel this one, I do.

[Jayne Ann Saporito]

This is so heartbreaking, and true to life. You covered all the elements, including a grief that was almost unable to come about. Life is so complicated. Hospital corridors and walls will most assuredly haunt us all. You write of that so well.