Posts by John Blase

My Father Who Is In Heaven

My father who is in heaven, I sure do miss you like hell. I’ve got friends who pray to Mary the mother of God. You were a close friend of God, one of the true-bluest I knew, so I’m betting if it works with Mary then it’s got to work with you too. Yes, you…

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Just For Today

I just told her I want to run away— maybe to Buena Vista (we’ve spent sweet summers there) or Golden and sprawl beside Clear Creek to watch the sun set long and languid, anywhere really in driving distance to steal away from thinking about dying and moving and starting this life over at 54yrs which…

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I Saw You As You Left This World

Dad, I was going to text you this morning something, something I wanted to tell you. But then I remembered you’re not here any longer, and my great sadness stirred. Its two months today that we saw your face through our phones and you were all thumbs up we’re gonna give this intubation a go…

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Small Gods

The one-eyed poet saw the world awash in small gods—everything from stink bugs and hollyhocks to forest creeks and girls in green bathing suits. Lord what a vision. To consider loons as small gods would be a stretch for most two-eyed people. And to float the idea that we consider, even refer to, one another…

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Fatherless Time

Seconds before they lowered my father’s casket into the ground, the boyish-handed man from the crackerjack funeral home team directed me to place my boutonniere on the lid. I did. But he didn’t see me strip my metaphorical watch and place it there too. I doubt anyone did. I’m learning now to live on fatherless…

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Alright, Goodnight

Three times yesterday I found tears in my eyes. I don’t follow the “real men don’t cry” Jesus like some blowhards, so I cried slightly and wondered aloud Well, okay, now what’s this about?   I’m leaving in a few minutes for CrossFit class, working out with people half my age. Half my age—that makes…

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God the Odd

God. Rhymes with sod, mod, bod, rod. Rod the bod—that guy in school who never exercised a day in his life yet had six-pack abs and ropey forearms that rivaled Popeye’s. God also rhymes with odd, which is probably the best of the rhymes because it seems to fit. God the odd—that deity in the…

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How Did We Get Here?

More than once, on the day of my father’s death, did I think How did we get here? Doctors and nurses had told us things were “improving,” “he’s still not out of the woods” (a very non-medical phrase repeated I don’t know how many times over the course of those weeks) but “improving.” At one…

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Fine, Ride On Then

C’mon. Don’t do it again, Lord. Please. This whole passiony affair, this week-long dioramatic train wreck labeled holy (but is it?). We’re shell-shocked right now, knee-deep in death and loss and so much sad. Adding yours to the evening news, even though we know the Paul Harvey…please, can we just skip it?   I know,…

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Do You See What I’m Doing?

I keep trying to put my father’s dying in a story. I guess I’ve thought that might help me, and possibly others, make some sense of this vale. A couple of weeks after the funeral, my son drove to my mother’s house to visit and spend the night. Mom went to bed early that evening,…

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