Walking His Road

All the time, Dad worked—
His hands steady in the rhythm
Of one odd job to the next.

His back bent toward the days,
Carrying more than I recognized.
I never knew what he wanted—
I only saw what he gave.

He labored past the edges
Of our understanding.

I never knew I was absorbing
His life from the sidelines—
Until his absence told me.

Only later did I find his lessons
Folded in my own hands.
I walked beside him, unaware
Of the lessons unfolding.

Only his absence revealed
The depth of what he gave.

Now, I search for what makes
His legacy feel complete in me.
What I want most
Is to keep walking this path
He set forth for me to follow.

The road he walked
Now stretches in my hands,
A journey shared beyond all plans.