Papa

My papa has cancer

and even when he fights it,

it never goes away.

It comes back in a new shape,

a new size, a new place

but the effects are the same.

It’s messing with his liver,

it’s messing with his lungs,

his colon is wrecked,

and his hair is almost gone.

The treatments made him weak,

they’ve taken all his strength.

It’s made him tired

and aged him to 103.

His finger and his toes are numb

which makes things a little harder.

His energy levels haven’t risen

in nearly three years now,

but despite the discomfort

he looks happy to see me.

We’re laughing at the table like it used to be.

He’s showing us some video

that’s honestly quite a bore,

but man do I wish

he could show us more.

I knew the clock was running out

and that we had to say goodbye,

so I’d hug him extra tight each time we parted

and thank him for it all.

My papa had cancer,

and it took his life,

but his heart remained intact.

We don’t have to discuss it

because it’s understood,

but I will always leave his house

turning my head back to shout

“I love you so much!”.

I know that he can feel those words

from where we laid him down.