Departments of Grief, a poem for my father, five years on

The Facts Department woke me with a call,

“Your father passed five years ago today.”

I sat with this truth, fists clenched in a ball

Because, with facts, there’s little one can say.

The Regrets Department sent me a text,

Listed kind words unsaid, thanks left to rot.

This causes some shame and leaves me perplexed

I do carry them close, never forgot.

The Sadness Department came to my door,

Made my heart heavy and dampened my eyes.

Despite my instinct to crash on the floor

The pain gave some solace, weight to my cries.

The Joy Department had little to say,

They knew, or felt, that they didn’t belong

But they whispered of sweet wonderful days

Of board games, bagels, and shared special songs

Of Dodgers and Philippe’s with lines too long

Of plays and readings and notes like a gong

Of walks with white dogs and talks gone so wrong

Of heartfelt support, though always headstrong.

The Hope Department left a hand-scrawled note,

Spoke of the future, good things in the air.

New happiness, new memories to tote

And in my heart, Dad will always be there. - Jonathan Josephson, December 26, 2005