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03/31/09 - (1)
My Father's Birthday
This coming Sunday, the fifth of April, My father will be one hundred years old. My mother and I, devotedly,
Will commemorate his birthday, With words of congratulations and love. It's quite a milestone, we both agree.
But as the occasion draws nigh, I've begun to have certain misgivings, Not least among them, this:
How can a person who's dead be alive? How can bones buried in a cemetery, Seven years deceased, be living?
Perhaps it's reasonable to assume That death, like life, is a state of mind, An indefinite suspension of disbelief,
And that death depends on memory To give it life, perpetuity. This Sunday, my father will be one hundred.
03/31/09 - (1)
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