Grandpa

Sitting by his hospital bed,
his hand cold in mine,
watching his chest rise and fall
until it doesn’t anymore;
the helplessness of life
collapsing against the weight of time,
the silence that follows,
and the unbearable truth
that love can’t keep a heart beating.

I can hear the echo of his voice in mine,
his eyes, my eyes, that see the world
in a way only we could see it,
the soft curve of his hands
where mine learned to hold on.

He carried the world on his shoulders,
strong arms that built and mended,
that held tight when I needed strength,
and let go when I needed to grow.
His wisdom quiet but vast,
lessons tucked between stories,
truth folded into the space between words.

The father I never had,
he taught me how to live,
how to face the world and not bow to it,
how to feel everything and not break,
and most of all
how to love without fear
of what it will cost

when it finally yields
to the passage of time.