You Are Still My Father

Though you can no longer share your wise advice and put my mind at ease,

or tell me a very dry joke which I will find funny as we share a similar sense of humour.

Even though you now weigh less than me, your tall frame frail like a bird, skin on bone.

As I find myself talking to you like I would a small child,

and the times I find myself silent with nothing to say because I am weary of narrating the stories of my day.

Even as I feed you, coaxing you to open your mouth like a bird and remind you to chew.

And as I taste your food first so I know if it is too hot, or cold, or just plain awful.

As I watch you disappear slowly I remember you are still my Father.

You still know more than I do.  Have experienced more than I.

You are more tolerant than I will ever be.  

More forgiving. 

More kind.

You bear your life as it is now somehow and when I complain about the little I can do for you I am ashamed.

Though our roles have reversed in many ways, I am still your child.

You are still my Father.

My Father's hands, when he was still able to use them.