We went for a stroll one morning,
Just my father and I.
As the sun awakened and rose in the east,
I took my father's hand-
And we walked along the country road that was our home.
As we walked, we reminisced-
Days passed, years even-
Seasons changed as we walked,
My father and I.
We shared memories of our life spent together-
Memories that healed and memories that hurt.
We walked past green pastures,
And I saw through his eyes-
All of the moments,
That had sculpted his life.
I saw his love and dedication to my mother.
I saw the awe in his heart-
The day his children were born.
I saw his grandchildren,
Sons, daughters, family, and friends-
He had gathered along the way.
On our journey down our country road,
We rarely spoke aloud.
The conversations we had existed,
Between his heart and mine.
As the dusk began to fall,
And the sun was put to sleep-
My father gently squeezed my hand,
And I knew our time together was drawing to a close.
As I gazed out beyond our path,
I noticed that my road was coming to an ending-
While his was just beginning.
And even through my heartache,
I was happy for him.
This was the road that would lead him home-
Others waiting to guide him on his way.
To grasp his hand-
As mine slipped free.
Even through my anguish,
He had been preparing me my entire life for this moment-
The time I would need to walk,
Without his hand to hold.