Part of my reason for creating this blog is to open myself and my emotions up, to allow myself some freedom of creativity, of expression. This is a very personal poem; I wrote it on what would have been Adams 30th birthday, last May. When you are finished reading it, please comment, if you desire, but more importantly, learn the lessons it contains. Thank you for listening.

At Adam’s Funeral

I was being the strong
Husband, supporting my wife;
Father, comforting our two other children
(Adam was the middle child)
A gentleman approached me.

“May I talk with you a minute, please?”
He politely inquired.
“I know this is not a good time,
But I need to apologize to you and your son.”

I guess my questioning eyes
Permitted him to proceed.
“About a month ago, my daughter
Who was a friend of your sons’
Called him from a party.

She had gotten drunk,
Too drunk to drive
She was, I am ashamed to admit
Too frightened to call me.

She asked Adam to pick
Her up and drive her home.
She handed him her house-key,
He gently lifted her up
And proceeded to the door.

I was watching through the curtains,
Unable to control my anger,
I watched as she vomited over him.
Serves him right, I said to myself out loud.

He opened the door,
I offered no assistance
As he brought her in
Gently laying her on the couch.

Angered beyond belief,
I lashed out at him.
“How dare you!
What have you done to my daughter?

“Did you get her drunk
And violate her as well?”
I continued
To berate him.

To him, it must have been hell.
But he stood there tall,
And kept looking me in the eye.
Never saying a word.

“I stopped”, he continued.
"Adam finally spoke,
His words slow and clear.
I will never forget his courage.”

“Sir, in the morning,
After your daughter is awake and better,
I am sure she will set your fears about me to rest.
Good night, sir.”

He left, morning came,
And my daughter tearfully
Told me about the night.
Church friends invited her to the party.

She had no fear,
Sixteen, innocent, virginal
No idea of what waited for her
Alcohol was served
And she got drunk.
“I was afraid to call you, Dad;
I didn’t want the fight.
Adam I called because I knew
I could rely on him.”

I thought about calling him
Offering my apologies
For I had put him through hell
I got too busy, and it was not important.

Please know your son
Was a good man, not a boy.”
I remember that night, myself.
He had finished his first week of chemo.

Home for a rest, his mother and I went to dinner.
He told me he had taken the truck
To help a friend in trouble.
I asked if everything was ok.

“Sure, dad. I just wanted you to know
Why there were miles on the truck.”
Three weeks later, he died.
A good man, not a boy.

I went to his grave today,
Sitting, eyes closed, meditating;
When a voice whispered in my ear,
Dad, they are coming closer! Look!
Eyes slowly open; a doe and a fawn
Were 10 feet away.

And I understood.
He was here, in his chosen
Environment, a place with birds,
Trees, and deer.

I asked him then,
Would it be ok if I write this?
Show the world who you are?
Yeah, Buddy!
His voice rang loudly in my ear.
So here it is.