You’re still here. I can see you

Standing in my backyard with your coffee cup

Walking across the patio, pausing to pet the dog

Tool bag in tow perhaps

Or carrying a slab of meat you got on sale

Coming in the back door

Without ever being offered that option

Because that’s the way that family comes into the house.

You’re still here. I can see you

Sitting in a patio chair in the driveway

The smoker billowing

My husband adding chips and checking his temps

As you sip from your Yeti

Chit-chatting about nothing

In your ballcap and your white tennis shoes

That gold cross hanging from your neck

A reminder to you of the kind of man you wanted to be

The kind of man who helped people

And gave of himself even if he didn’t feel like it

Who took care of people who needed it

Without waiting for them to ask.

You’re still here. I can see you

In the way you taught your son to do the same

And in the way he stands in the driveway

The way he looks into the distance

The way he shakes his head or closes his eyes

Or looks up to the sky

Suppressing frustration

The way he lets things go unsaid that don’t need to be said

The way he jokes and smiles as easily as he grows serious

The way he loves the people who belong to him.

You’re still here. You’ll never really be gone.