Only Half the Story
Janet Kuypers
6/25/17
He was a troubled man.
He had a good life but let
demons in, to do him in.
In his struggles
he almost died
a number of times,
and even his family
pushed him away –
and only heard news
of his death
after he was
already cremated.
And it makes me wonder
if our love for him
ever completely went away –
because after all
the mistakes were made,
I want to believe
that he’s worth more
than what his demons
reduced him to.
–
I want to remember
that when I worked retail
he bought the biggest
teddy bear through me
when he just found out
that his wife was pregnant
with their first child...
and I suppose it was a fun way
for me to get the news too.
I want to remember
how he’d come inside
after plowing too many
streets to count that
were filled with feet
after feet of snow,
that little icicles would
be hanging off his
mustache from his breath.
I want to remember
him picking me up
from the airport,
where we decided to pay
the airport parking
machine with pennies,
dropping pointless pennies,
then laughing at
repurposing pennies
that once only
wasted space
in his truck’s ash try...
I want to remember
that a friend from his youth
(who was shorter than me
by the time I was twelve),
that his friend decided that
my nickname would be “shorty”...
I want to remember
how when I’d see him swim
he’d wear tiny speedos
(and that might seem
strange, but he got
a college scholarship for this –
he was a near-Olympic diver,
once in competition
with medal-winners
like Greg Louganis)...
and he’d go to the
diving board, and suddenly
this concrete construction
company owner
sprung with such skill
as he flipped through the air,
before making
the tiniest tear
and splash next to nothing
through that sheet of water,
that could shatter
like glass through the sky
if anyone tried the same
dive other than him.
–
You see, I want to remember
these little slices of his life,
these windows into
his acts of kindness,
how he was the kind of guy
who’d want to give
the shirt off his back
to a man in need.
I want to remember this.
Because I want to believe
that he wasn’t always lost.
I want to believe
that even though he erred
we should no longer
condemn him, but condemn
the thing that did this to him.
So I try to not
remember the demons,
but remember the man
inside. I want to believe,
and this is why I must remember.
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