Soon it will be time for you to go, and I say this with a strange throttling at my throat. Although you have been an inhabitant of another plane for months, I have oftentimes felt your presence hovering, comforting, even in my worst periods of mourning and silence. We spoke without language so often, reading each other, father and daughter--we did in the days past, and so we do now. I sense this--soon it will be time for you to go, to move on, into the light, part of a million dancing sunrays showering this earth every morning. Perhaps you sense I do not need those training wheels of your invisible presence as much. Perhaps you’ll be part of a view that you’d delight in, national geo style. Soon it will be time for you to go, and again I feel the despair of a young child in the dark, the scare of a young girl who’s forgotten her lines and stands blank, petrified, before an audience.
Or perhaps time for you to inhabit another lifetime, take baby steps again, learn to coo and lisp and in time, talk and run, and in thinking so-- see my own selfishness, in the hope that our paths should some day , but for certain,cross. And I know probably not, for you’d paid too many dues and learned too deeply in the real sense of the word, you’d taken the essence of the scriptures and instilled it in your life, to ever have to relive the ups and downs of a life cycle again.
You will go on, but what ever shall I do?