It was September 8 and like every other day, You lay resting in a hospital bed in the kitchen.
I was too young to see you go so fast away.
The ice cream I used to bring you feels like all but fiction.
You are a lost memory, like running in diapers. But that horrific moment is violently scratched on my subconscious.
I’m not going to leave to casual writers, To tell about that time when I saw you unconscious.
Yes, that’s what you were to me, a flash of a dream In which you lay sleeping and would soon wake up
Like an Ice King longing for his strawberry ice cream, Muttering about his everyday medical checkup.
I went from room to room filled with untold questions. Why the blue shadow had enveloped this happy family home.
Sniveling and hulking, unseen, I found my comfort in the doghouse.
So much sadness left behind, but I don’t blame you. The effect you keep having on us is unmistakable.
But that's because Your life to us was far too irreplaceable.