In the kitchen we stood,

under merry light,

processing, hoping, coping.

Our collective strength;

some obligation

to smile.

 

This man - part me -

a symbol of will,

of control.

 

His voice cracked sharply,

laced with the most potent

of emotion;

a momentary lapse,

all his worst fears

realised at once.

 

I'm sorry.

 

Never before had I seen him cry.

He reached for my hand and held me,

my mum too,

held us tight with his gorilla grip,

his loving hold,

still with me.

 

You''l be okay.

You'll be okay.