"My daughter is dead to me" he exclaimed
over some issue with her marriage
he could not overlook
not knowing himself to be a prophet.
Her death coming only 18 months later
eaten from the inside by ovarian cancer
leaving behind a living reminder--
His granddaughter.
A child who's eyes and smile and hair and laugh
each sang to him of his daughter.
A dirge that reminded him
that he would never again hold his only daughter
or have a chance to say "I'm sorry."
He'd be forced to forge a relationship with
'not quite good enough' son-in-law
now a widower and the protector of his grandchild.
and the words echoed sorrow in his soul.
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