It was coming. By Ishfaq Ali

It was coming.

Days of calm turned into months

Of slowing down.

Natural, perhaps.

How fitting.

How do you learn to carry presence after absence?

I didn’t know then —

But now, I do.

And I do.

*

I was thirteen — still changing, still becoming.

Not a child, not fully grown —

A shaky bridge of questions and shyness.

A time of too much feeling

And nowhere to put it all.

The perfect ground

For memory to grow.

I loved you.

The way you walked, those high-waisted pants.

You were round, rolling, warm —

Like an egg, a barrel, a bundle —

Names softened by laughter.

False teeth smiling, thick glasses squinting.

Work boots worn like habits,

Shirts open at the neck —

The brown of your skin kissed by sun and life.

Brylcreem held your hair in place,

But never stopped your joy.

You were big.

You are big

Still, inside me.

I love that you lived

With presence.

*

You sat at the table like a landmark,

Unmoving, dependable.

A farmer — yes, of land —

But also of people,

Of me.

And though disease came slowly,

Draining, twisting, cruel —

It didn’t erase.

It couldn’t.

Even as your body wasted,

Your eyes — one fading, one bright —

Stuck with us.

The wink.

Still there.

Sharp, flashing with mischief.

I flinched once from it.

Now I lean into its memory.

You said so much with that wink.

A goodbye, yes.

But also:

Remember me like this.

And I do.

*

I wasn’t there at the very end.

But I was there.

In your laugh, your stories,

Your food, your smell, your shape.

Even now, you show up in mirrors

And the way you move.

You never really left.

*

God, how I miss you —

Still.

Tears, sometimes.

But softer now.

Not angry.

Just real.

*

I’m older now than my dad was then.

Almost 40.

Strange.

Full circle.

The day you went

Was the day he aged ten years in a moment.

I heard it —

That sound.

Not words.

Not even sadness.

A tearing open.

And I knew.

It wasn’t just his loss.

It was mine too.

A pain passed through time.

I hear it sometimes

In my own voice

When I’m alone.

But it doesn’t scare me anymore.

It’s human.

It’s the echo of love.

*

That night changed me.

But not only in sadness.

I learned this:

People go.

And people stay.

Both are true.

Men cry,

And still remain strong.

Love doesn’t fix everything,

But it matters.

Life ends —

But memory doesn’t.

I was broken — yes.

But I healed around it.

And I carry you.

Still.

Always.