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My turn: No doubts about where you are

I hope you are there. I hope it is beautiful.

No more companions gone, living alone in a world you once knew — memories too many, hopes too few.

Is he spinning tales about bird dogs and deer, finding sons’ bootlegged beer — laughter replacing fears of the hereafter?

Are you telling us not to worry if we’re not afraid to reap what we sow?

The end was horrible, but you would do it again to watch us unfold.

Nothing else mattered — as long as we loved, forgave and stayed out of the grave.

No time for doubts, you gave and gave until you finally gave out.

At the end, too tired to explain, too accepting to complain.

Don’t be sad, you said, you were ready to go.

We wanted you to fight, but had no right.

You fought too long and hard for easy canards.

It’s our turn to drift through the rain that carried you away — to a harbor not unlocked by books — washing away pain is all it took.

If there is more, we will find out when we reach that shore.

You are free to go above clouds of falling snow, angel hair on scented trees rescued for our delight, decorating childhoods you willed to burn up a world that is finally fair.

Who needs wings when you are already there.