namesake

August 3 marks eight years since my father died. These are the words that found me as I stack up the stones once again.

namesake

the name was used when you gave it to me accompanied by a number I was the third though we were only two and you already knew the grief of a dead father who died at fifty-seven

I was almost his age when you died and I have counted the years since from the day of your death first you then mom your absence a presence and the name lives on

you told the stories of your life like a gospel writer leaving out the details and I still have questions I can answer only with imagination and compassion somehow it seems I’m still getting to know you

and what it means to live into the name you gave me though I changed it much to your chagrin the distance we lived with seems small compared to death except sometimes when you catch me by surprise

these last eight years are full of arguments we didn’t have or phone calls to talk about food and sports and weather I keep telling your old jokes and retelling stories but I’m the only one to turn when someone says Milton

Peace, Milton