By Ernie McCray

There have been moments
in mourning
the loss of my son
that I’ve felt like a boat
being battered in rough seas,
swirling and whirling
in pounding
un-relenting waves,
and then there comes
a little break
as the waters, seemingly,
hurl me towards the shore,
and a memory,
like one I had the other day,
springs to the fore,
a sweet remembrance
from years before –
a day that Guy and I,
and a friend,
on his boat, far from shore,
in a deep blue ocean
enjoyed a day of fishing and relaxing
where there were no crashing waves
in motion…

But, oh, he was more so the fisherman
than I could ever be,
as there’s much too much
“Ewww” in me
to want to cause any
pain and misery
to creatures
on land and/or sea.

My mind wandered, I think,
to thoughts like this
because Guy’s daughter, Kinya,
one evening after her father had died,
spoke of how he loved to fish,
leading my thoughts to images of that day,
images of how he smiled the whole day,
images of how his spirit was up
and how his humor was on display,
his less anxious self at play.
He got to steer the boat
and gut our catch that day.

He got to see San Diego
from somewhat far away
from angles
one doesn’t see
unless they’re looking on
from the sea.

He got to,
after catching both
the most and biggest fish,
brag
about the time he had.

Yeah, he was bad.

That day
brought the gentlest of breezes
and blessings our way,
from the time we set sail
until the time we returned to the boat dock
at the bay.

These moments are precious to me
because we didn’t,
I’m sad to say,
have enough in our lives
of what we basked in that day,
and in such a frame of my mind
I can still hear the voices
of Guy’s daughters
and one of my granddaughters
giving him praise,
when we got together,
for his loving ways,
and I’ve read
sentiments
written by his cousins
and his friends,
sincerely expressing
their love for his music,
and their love for him
for how giving
and loving
he was to them…

How soothing it is
to go from rough seas
to pleasant memories.

Being remembered
so fondly
should allow
this father
and grandfather
and brother
and son
to rest in piece
now that his days
on earth are done.

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Ernie McCray

I was raised in a loving and alive home, in a black neighborhood filled with colorful characters in Tucson, Arizona. Such an environment gave me a hint that life has to be grabbed by the tail as tight as a pimple on a mosquito's butt. With no BS and a whole lot of love. So, from those days to now I get up every morning set on making the world a better place. On my good foot*, and I hope my writing reflects that. *an old black expression

Latest posts by Ernie McCray (see all)

• Should Democrats, like Superman, Seek ‘Truth, Justice and the American Way’? - December 10, 2018
• Saying Goodbye to a Friend Who Gave Me a Helping Hand - November 28, 2018
• An Awakening - November 21, 2018