The question stings. So badly, tears well up as I read it.

Do you still love me?

It feels unfair. The answer so obvious, how could he have ever not known it?

I have always known.

He was the love of her life. My mom loved no other like my dad. He was the one she chose to be her husband and father of her child. He knew she loved him. Then. Then was before he went to war.

War is a thief.

I have always known.

Penned letters to my mom from Vietnam are all I know of my dad’s thoughts: confusion around our military’s involvement on foreign ground; a selected soldier’s desire to become all he could be despite the imposition; the unbearable yearning to be at home with his bride and child whose future he was dreaming; and the deadly, terrifying, lonely days and nights between replies.

Do you still love me?

War robbed my dad of life. It deprived him of freedom and demanded duty, hijacked his hope and left behind uncertainty, stole his faith and stoked his fears.

I should have known.

Every question is fair in love and war.

#love #war #life #freedom #duty #faith #fear #fair #notfair #letters

I am broken.

It all began at the start.

Came into the world,

Filled up hearts.

Piece by piece,

I created myself,

Much to the delight

Of everyone else.

Ideas and expectations

Forced my art.

As I painted my masterpiece,

The world tore it apart.

All at once,

They couldn't be pleased,

Those critics so sure of

Who I should be.

Too many inputs,

Impossible to heed.

The only remedy:

Just be me.

Humans

Think too much.

In our heads

All the time,

Transporting ourselves

Ahead and behind

Through time,

But blind.

Not what went

Or what comes,

Matters more

Than this moment.

Turn off the switch.

Let your mind

Quiet.

Hitch yourself to the present.

You won't regret it.

Today, I

Thought of why

I should not

Think of you

Any more, 

But cannot

Stop my brain

From digging

Through crates of

Our songs that

Are begging

For playback

One more time

Before I

Say goodbye

For now, until

Next time the

Needle drops.

The military snagged my dad in a draft,

Gave him a gun, put him at the door

Of a hovering craft.

Letters of love and longing were sent

Between countries, during a war

That didn't even make sense.

My mom was at home building our nest,

When a knock at the door said, "David is next.

To come home in a box

With a flag on top."

"What happened?," she cried.

"That big bird in the sky?

Shot down in flames. Didn't survive," 

They replied.

And just like that, at 8 months old,

I became a daughter who would never know

The unconditional love only a father shows.

And I was never the same

After that.

Retreat to wet box 

Escape the chaos 

Scrub in earnest

Stream of consciousness

Revel in purity

Mind, body, soul

Clean