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Poem for a Dad

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Father and son in earlier, happier times.

[Editor’s Note: Mr. Astrup is a 10th grader at Crossroads School, Santa Monica.] 

I know that my Aunt Madeline (Ehrlich) has told you about a poem I wrote back in April, two months after my dad committed suicide.

This tragedy has changed my life in many ways. Since this time, with support from family, friends and through therapy, I am moving through these difficult times, gaining more understanding and being able to forgive my dad more each day.

September was National Suicide Prevention Month. I hope that my poem will help someone else who may be dealing with the same or similar tragedy.

I wrote this poem at the request of two seniors at Crossroads School for a project that they were involved in. I have been a Crossroads student since kindergarten. Writing is one of my passions.

 

Dad

I remember the day

I was told I had to

pick up the phone.

Sitting next to a friend, looking

back, I wish I had

been alone

For a second I thought it was a joke.

It had to be a lie.

I couldn’t believe for

even the slightest

moment that my dad

could die. For a week,

nothing changed. It all

seemed the same.

Then I started

hating myself, targeting myself

for the blame.

For a while I thought the pain

would last forever. I

wondered when it would stop.

I wish it was just a cold and I

could swallow a cough drop.

But this is something that

leaves a stain, not

something that just goes

away. There were times I

couldn’t take it. This pain

couldn’t stay.

I would get furious and

throw my anger at what

was in front of me.

Punch a book, hit

anything I could see.

But I realized that this

wouldn’t bring him back, and

wouldn’t fix a thing.

I started thinking about his

sadness, trying to

understand what he was feeling. I remember when

he cried, when he finally let

it out.

This thought makes

me crazy, makes me

scream and shout. I’m angry at him for

leaving. Why did he

have to go?

I wish I could

fix it. I

wish I could

know why he

did it, why he

was so sad,

why he

abandoned me,

why it makes

me so mad.

 

These

questions are all

bottled up

in my head.

So I started

writing,

grabbed

some paper

and lead.

Looking

back on it

and trying

to make

sense.

But this hurting

in my chest

started to

become too

intense. I would

walk into school

with a fake smile

on my face,

looking for an

adult, someone w

ho could

replace.

I now know

that my dad

is stuck

right here.

Maybe he is

gone, but he

didn’t disappear.

I cry every night,

listening to the

same old song,

thinking about how

he taught me

what was right and what

was wrong. I have

become who I am

because of him,

showing me

the path,

always

dropping a

crumb. I am

grateful for

the times I

spent with

dad,

all the fun memories,

and the

moments I

had. My

dad was

amazing. He was one

of a kind,

and this

suffering he

faced, made

him so

blind

about what he

would lose, and

the people who

would cry now.

I look for him. I

stare at the sky

trying to stop

myself but

knowing I have

to say goodbye.

 

Saying that this

isn’t the most painful

thing  in the world

would  be a  lie.

 

Mr. Astrup may be contacted through the Ehrlich family at PMSHA@aol.com

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