Updates on "The Gift" and other stories will continue as of next week-- my hiatus continues. Thank you for your patience.

- - -

My time away lasts longer still
as I taste again a bitter pill.
The stories by the wayside lay
but I shall return again Tuesday.
I speak once more of deaths affairs
that takes a father from his heirs
pulling my thoughts to family
and placing obligations upon me.

It has been a lengthy road
as doctors tried to fight and goad
the cancer out of where it lay
inside my dad with intent to slay
the vile tumors seeking to end him
with weakness to heart and mind and limb.
But in the end as has happened before
you may win a battle but still lose the war.

Between the arguments of kith and kin
I find myself stuck too firmly within
a world unkind to one with an empath's heart
and I feel as though I'm being torn apart
by the demands and the fears of the family
who were not as close to my father as me.
They don't know his wishes or final thoughts
which means many battles of financial plots.

Having no way to describe how I feel
I've turned to rhymes in the hope I'll deal
with that which I have no way to cope.
Regardless I shall continue to hope
that the pain will pass and I'll focus anew
and bring yet more stories here to you.
Until then I beg you all will wait
as I address the issues of my dad's fate.

This is not a sudden loss as we have known
for months as the cancer has spread and grown
but no matter how well prepared you might be
there is no way to deal with such a loss simply.
So I find myself grieving even as I work hard
to protect everything from family who were jarred
by the loss of one we had all loved so much
because they do not know what is safe to touch.

This journal is not a call for sympathy
I am taking a break and must say simply
that my life has changed. Since losing my dad
I find myself going from scared, angry, to sad.
And such a mindset is not a productive one
but I hope soon to return to the fun
of providing you all the stories to read
but first I must deal with this pressing need.

The life of a writer brings many demands
much more than is solved by keyboard and hands.
And yet metaphors come to mind as I look
I find myself comparing death to a book.
I want to scream and shout and cry
"Help me!" but I realize that I can't even try;
far too many depend on me to be stable
and complete the papers upon the table.

It's hard to be calm and say my goodbyes
when I can't keep the tears out of my eyes.
My dad's chapter ended before I was ready
and right now I am fighting to keep myself steady.
And nothing right now feels like it should;
it hurts since that book is closed for good.
Yes, all pain is temporary and I'll be back
but for the next few days I'll be in black.

So please have patience; I shall return
as soon as I can have my turn
to grieve. Once all of this is concluded
and my mind is once again unpolluted
by the emotions that are running unchecked
and my life no longer feels a'wrecked
I look forward to once again presenting
stories on end without relenting.