A Poem?
Today, August 26th, I am 24.
I was 23 when my dad died.
He was 63.
He is dead, but things are still happening.
/
At the edge of my right heel, there lies an abyss. It is too dense to glimmer.
There are people on the other side of its expanse, borne back. They do not know the edge is near.
There is a before-ness to their disappearance, but there is no visible after-ness.
/
For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
How poetic.
If I shovel enough into the abyss, maybe something will come back.
/
My dad would dig the “Irish way” – with his left foot forward.
I never noticed the abyss behind us.
Every time I leaned back, I just handed to him what I had found.
I never asked what we were digging for.
/
It was not until he left that I could see
the nothing-ness that lay behind.
It was not until he left that I had to look past him.
No mirage of comfort, nor of sadness, can take up his stead.
/
I am too far from the words, memories, places, things that aren’t things.
And there is so much I have yet to see –
if I could just look down, not around.
But it is all too much.
/
When you can just
look away.
Leave the abyss behind you and the earth beneath you
unrecognized and untended.
/
Just don’t look to where he was.
/
I wonder when my dad realized that he was falling.
I wonder when he stopped looking around at the colors, when he stopped digging for more to share, when he stopped standing between the rest of us and the abyss.
I wonder what he saw as he was falling – below the depths of where he’d been, but above the after-ness that we may never reach.
/
I wonder when my dad realized that he was falling.
I wonder how he fought.
Because I never did.
/
At the edge of my right heel, there lies an abyss. It is too dense to glimmer.
There are people across its expanse, borne back. They do not know the edge is near.
There is a before-ness to their disappearance, but there is no visible after-ness.
They do not seem to know that they should be digging.
/
Is it not too obvious yet?
The people across the abyss are simply our reflections. Borne back, and not yet realizing that they soon will fall away from colorful before-ness, too.
/
The abyss is just death. And the before-ness is just life. And what is beneath us is the life we can know better if we dig. And the people around us are what bring color to the expanse that stands athwart the abyss. And the color is only maintained if we keep digging.
Not climbing.
Digging.
/
And what is digging?
Digging is just the questions.
/
“What course of life is best?”
As long as he was asking, maybe I didn’t have to.
/
Before he died, my dad was a teacher.
Before he died, my dad was a husband.
Before he died, my dad was a father.
Before he died, my dad was a friend.
/
Where is he now?
He cannot return if there is an answer.
/
Today, August 26th, I am 24.
I was 23 when my dad died.
He was 63.
He is dead, so why are things still happening?
\\
We have decided to establish a scholarship in my dad’s memory for OSU College of Education students. Please consider a gift to my dad’s scholarship fund. Gifts can be made to the OSU Foundation at osufoundation.org or mailed to OSU Foundation, 4238 SW Research Way, Corvallis, OR 97333. Please indicate that the gift is in memory of Mike O'Malley. Thanks to the many of you who have already donated.
So nice to see you back here writing, Emmett. I have been thinking about you all. I didn't realize that you and my father share birthdays! I have been reflecting on my dad's death a lot in relation your writings. He was also an amazing man and had a big influence on my life, so I can relate to a lot of what you are going through. Keep on writing! You have a very special gift and your thoughts are very important and meaningful!