I kneel in front of the wall and touch the letters that spell out your name in the cold, white marble.

And I cry.

When they say that time heals all wounds,

Well, They lie.

It just distracts you. Makes it harder to remember sometimes.

But heal?

No.

I have searched my soul to try and find some way to be at peace with your death.

Try to forgive myself for the distance I put between us when you were alive.

But it’s always there.

Guilt and grief and the total unfairness of it all.

No matter the time that passes.

And when I kneel here, where you rest,

whispering how much I miss you

I am nothing but a fatherless child – even at the age of 30.

Still feeling like I don’t want to grow up without you.

But time marches on and I get older anyway, regardless.

And I'm granted no second chance to tell you just how much I love you.

Just more time to remember that I never did when I could.