You Held Me High All These Years. [A poem for my friend/her dad]

I stared blankly at the open casket.
Could this cold corpse really be my father?
I sat next to it holding my baby brother.
Confused by the lack of laughter.

Understanding little about the world around his cold, desperate hands.
He knew not then, not when, but now.
The room was filled with tears,
The chilliness of the stares toward this once beloved man.

Replying to the eerie shutter of my mother,
Loosing her grip on her life.
Watching those around her die.

The point of life is to live it and live well,
The point of death is to make life seem important.

I stare at your closed eyes,
Only wishing to stare at their vibrant blue again.

When I was younger you held me on your shoulders.
You've held me high all these years.

Now not only does the world seem a sadder place,
But accomplishments just don't seem so great.

How can I be as happy as ever,
When my little brother says his first word,
When his father couldn't hear it.
Because mothers off somewhere wishing it had ended better.

The car ride home makes me understand,
Your annoying music just isn't as annoying anymore.
Your dumb jokes make me smile now.

The way I look at it now is,
You held me high all these years,
My brother will be held high,
On my shoulders.
Like I learned from our father.

One proud man who knew that his children someday would be everything that he wanted them to be.
Forgiving, understanding, and loving.

So hears to my dad,
He may be gone,
We may be sad,
But this man was great
Through the good and the bad.