My Dad's Fifteen Minutes of Fame

My Dad's Fifteen Minutes of Fame
Mom took me to the V.A. Hospital in St.Louis
to my father's hospital bed.
She wanted me to see him before he was dead.
When I got there I did not expect to see
that my father was close to death, it so hurt me.
I tried to talk to him while choking back tears.
He lay their dying from cirrhosis from whiskey and beer.
My mom had a small bag with snuff and cigars for him.
She didn’t know she would find him in the shape he was in.
I could feel her pain as she looked at his
yellow eyes that once were white.
I know she was hurt by this terrible sight.
I know she, too, was choking back tears.
He was only fifty-five which was supposed to be the golden years.
He was drugged and almost incoherent from this illness he had.
I had never in my life ever felt all this bad.
Mom kissed him good-bye and I kissed him too.
We hated to leave but, had to go home.
The next day my mom said, “I got a call on the phone.”
She said Dad had taken a turn for the worse and she needed to go.
She asked, “Do you want to go with me?” and I said, “No.”
I had already seen too much pain the day before.
Mom left and dad was gone long before she got to his door.
My father and mother were an icon of love to see.
She always said there was no better man on the planet for me.
Well you know the rest about what happens after death.
I’ll finish this story when I can catch my breath~~~~~
Okay, for years I hated my dad for dying when I was seventeen years old.
I was hoping for many more years of his wisdom to unfold.
It’s been over thirty years that I hated him for drinking until he died.
I thought about all this pain I had stored inside.
Until a few months ago did a thought tingle my brain…
My father had lived his “fifteen minutes of fame.”
He had five boys and a wife that was a beautiful mother.
He had seen things in this world so few will discover.
When I started thinking what he had and what gifts he left behind,
it buried the hate I had locked in my mind.
Now I look at all life as “fifteen minutes of fame,”
you’re on Shakespeare's stage just playing the game.
The best thing that’s most important above all
is God is the one that yells “Curtain Call.”
Dedicated to my Father.
“Break a leg Dad”
Stanley Victor Paskavich