I Believe
Strange, these after-your-father-dies days
when too-tired-for-life you wonder if you ever
really believed in God or just believed in Dad.
Lately, for me, I’ve leaned toward the latter.
John Dunne’s (the other one) fierce novel
Dutch Shea, Jr. concludes with this credo:
“I believe in Cat. I believe in God.”
Dutch’s daughter, Cat—killed by an IRA bomb.
Could I have believed in God had I not had
the kind of father I had for fifty-four years?
Like most things, it’s hard to say for certain.
Like most of us, we’re not looking for answers
so much as reaching for a hand hold, something
on the day’s sheer face to crimp or pinch,
an edge to keep your life from tumbling down.
I believe in Dad. I believe in God.
My dad died 30 years ago at age 58. Your words give my still-can-feel-fresh-grief credence.
Oh John . . .
Thank you.
so many ways to say
what gets one
through the days
what we are
what we become
No words.
so many ways to say
what gets one
through the days
what we are
what we become
? Thank you for bearing witness out loud.
I remember wondering how the world could still spin on its axis.
I totally agree with you John!
Each day a poem arrives from you in my inbox it’s the most careful and heartfelt compilation of words for the week. Thank you.
Excellent!
Your Dad sounds like he was a wonderful man.
Different story for me, but I’m trying to be the kind of man I suspect your Dad was to my son.
Nice to hear from you.
Faith of our fathers…
Oh yes! You said it good again.
Glad to see you here, John
I can’t find the words . . .
When my Dad died two years ago, the sifting of the bones began and the depth of the marrow of my soul was revealed. It was Dad who held be afloat on these treacherous waters of life unimagined. It was his voice and his solidity that kept me from bailing ship (too many times if I am honest.) I am now orphaned and leaning into the God who is, and who will forever be. How I long for God to be the voice of love for me over the phone. How I long for his embrace into a scratchy old sweater. How I miss the flesh and blood of someone who was my soulmate. I know this is a terribly hard time for you. Carrying that big ol cross up a new hill (We liked the old hills didn’t we?) I miss our old stomping grounds and safer times. Blessings and a hug do I send to you