Jake

Seventeen short years echo in our minds
as eighteen is stolen by the echo of a gun
a community's tears
every parent fears;
they say that only the good die young.

You were good, talented, sweet
you were kind-hearted, thoughtful, keen
you loved being with your dad
I can't believe this hunting trip ended- so sad!
A tragedy unlike anything I've ever seen.

If only you had gone to school,
if only you weren't hunting birds,
if only fate was not so cruel,
if only your poor dad had heard
the sound of you rejoining his hunt
if you hadn't ended up in front,
behind that bush, concealed from sight,
maybe right now you'd still be alive,

I don't know how your parents are doing,
if I were them I couldn't survive,
the questions, "if only," the hours reviewing,
I'd just fall to my knees and scream to God, "Why?"

I never got the chance to know you,
and now I guess I never will,
I wish that all down here could show you
the effect you hold on our hearts still.

I know you're in a better place,
and though you'll never again steal third base,
or block the puck from hitting the net,
there's one more job that I ask of you yet,
if at all possible, if the new rules would allow
could you come down and comfort your father somehow?
give him a breeze that's peaceful and cool
or maybe a hug, if it wouldn't be cruel,
for even the pain of a mother losing her child
and a brotherless brother wandering lost and wild
could never compare to the anguish, the guilt,
of knowing you shot the bullet that soundly unbuilt
the life that you had, ended with the sound of a shotgun
and a father left in the woods holding the weapon that killed his son.

Rest in peace, Jake.