There\'s a lake in North Georgia
That my family used to visit.
The water was always cold,
The cabin was always run down,
The boat never had gas,
And the bunkhouse was haunted.
I dream about it some times.
The decayed skeleton of a family
Nestled in Blue ridge country,
Where the hills tower over.
I watch the brim swimming around
The staunch wooden posts
Submerged in the waters
To keep the boathouse afloat.
I hear the cascading waves crashing
Into themselves as a pontoon splashes lazily past.
The crack of thunder and the flash of fireworks on my deafened ears,
Tremulous and bobbing
In a sea of onlookers on a holiday special event.
I remember the trellis hiding moldy inner tubes, and the spiderwebs
We\'d pluck from our hair
And laugh and shiver at the thought.
I remember hot dogs and spaghetti Bolognese.
I remember dropping a Mickey mouse fishing rod into the murky depths.
I remember planning to escape
The bull shark waters in terror
Of what I had seen on television.
And I remember when you told me,
Wrapped in your own decaying skeleton,
That you would end your paralysis
By driving off the dock.
And without a scream for help,
Or even a splash of that damned cold water,
You would sink.
And one last breath would be all that was left of my father.
I remember wanting to understand you, as you changed over the years.
How someone so vibrant and brave
Could become quiet, timid, fearful.
And I guess I finally get it now.
That your last sensation on this earth,
Couldn\'t be the wheelchair that nursed you
From independence to irrelevance.
It had to be the mother of your safety
That cradles you one last time
In a swirl of bubbles and diesel
Where you close your eyes
And remember what it was to be whole.
I get it.
Doesn\'t make hearing it any easier.