PAPER AIRPLANES

I lay these flowers on your grave.
In remembrance of the one who was there
  when I first breathed my first breath.
You always said that you loved me.
You always said you were proud of me.
Me, your first born son.
You, the one I called dad.
You were there for the whole of my life.
Encouraging me in all I did.
You showed me God.
You showed me your love for Him.
Soon I was to follow.
I never told you that I loved you.
But I did say: "I hate you!"
You hurt me.
So I hurt you.
I forgot about you.
I put a wall between us.
You weren't going to hurt me any more.
Little did I know, little did I care.
I was hurting you too.
So many times we were at odds.
So many times we fought.
So many times we ignored each other.
These are my greatest regrets.
A son not honouring his father.
But in my mind I screamed:
  "Where were you when I needed a father?"
Wounds always heal.
See these scars.
I remember, I cannot forget.
I forgive.
I now say:"I love you dad."
It's too late to say face to face.
"I'm sorry, please forgive me."
In my heart I know you heard me.
But I still carry the pain.
I still carry the hurt.
I still carry the hate.
I still carry the anger and rage.
I cannot forgive myself.
I cannot love myself.
How could I?!
You loved me.
You did the best you knew how to.
But it was never good enough for me.
I did not understand your illness.
I do now.
For I too have become afflicted.
Some would say it was pay back.
I call it ironic.
But all I can do now is wait for the reunion 
  in eternity as I join you in Heaven.
Tears still fill my eyes.
I could not love you.
But I sure could hate you.
"Heavenly Father, please help me to love again."
"Please help me to forgive myself."
See you soon dad.
I still miss you here.
I'd give anything to have you here again.
So I could say that I love you face to face.
To hear you say: "Son I love you, I am so
  proud of you."
I miss the times when I was little
  and we'd play together.
"Hey dad, remember those paper airplanes 
   we made together?"
I do, with a tearful smile.
Those times are what I choose to hold onto.
I still make those paper airplanes.
My greatest joy.

SCOTT DAVID BUCKLEY-(10/10/2012)