I Watched You Begin to Die, and it Killed Me

For Kermit Christian Miller


I was destroyed
after looking back
into the photo album
of the
last
family vacation
we shared.

By then the cancer
had spread
like a burning
fire into
every
crevice
of your once
invincible
body.

I was told
Pancreatic cancer
is incredibly hard
to find in early stages.

We wheeled him around
in a chair—
so different from the lumberjack
of a man he once was.

Papa please eat.

He couldn’t.

But to satisfy
my grandma,
he always ordered a
chicken caesar
as a fallback
because he no longer
could mentally retain
what was on the menu.

Papa please drink.

He couldn’t do
that either.

I yearned
for him to order
his old usual—
a bourbon-diet.

For ten days
we all tried to stay
positive—
tried to have
fun.
After all,
it was
a Mexican cruise
during Christmas
and New Year’s.

It was a combination
Of family and dear
Cherished friends
On that boa—
relationships
that have lasted
over a half century.

Every time
the three generations
of people who treasured
my grandpa,
came together,
tiny tears
made trails down his
thin,
thin,
skin.

I remember one day
on that trip
my mom and I
had to lift him
to the bathroom
because my grandma
was speaking to the doctor.

Papa was too weak
to move himself.

I held composure
just long enough
to get him to the door
and run outside
of the room
myself.
He was bones.
He smelled of decaying flesh.

It was then
I realized
I was watching him
slowly die.

I couldn’t catch my breath
and my hands were clenching
the bathroom sink
to the room
just next door.
Tears and snot
relentlessly
plummeted down
my purple face.

My favorite person,
the only man
I considered
good in life
compared to all
other men,
was dying.

On the last
day of the trip
before boarding my flight,
I hugged him
like I would see him
soon—

Two weeks later,
Just days
before my 19th birthday,
I got a call from my mom
saying he didn’t make it.

I lay curled
in a corner of my
dorm room
crying
for hours.
I couldn’t go
to class,
couldn’t eat,
and wished for sleep
so I didn’t have to think
about him
being gone.

My mom and grandma
tried to tell me
(through their own tears)
that it was okay now,
he wasn’t suffering—
even the both of them
didn’t believe it.

There was no real excuse
That could comfort me—
I would never
get to see him again.
I didn’t get to say a real goodbye.

So I wrote down what I loved
about him most,
for his funeral.
But I couldn’t read it
so the pastor did.
I was still having trouble
catching my breath.
Damn tears.

The entire town was there,
even bums that he had given money to.
My grandpa was the epitome
of a kind soul.

This coming January
will be four years
since he passed.
I still can’t mention him
without getting
glassy-eyed.

Papa I miss you,
Your house isn’t the same
without you.
Mucca (my grandma) isn’t the same
without you.
Your best friend can barely visit
because he is reminded that you
are no longer around.
A part of my life ended,
when yours also did.