The "Living Years" says it so much better, but anyway, this was for mine - Christos Papavgeris. Orphaned at age 2, worked as a shepherd to save up to go to college, became one of the best teachers in the country. Married at 20, he remained head over heels in love till the day he died at 88, a true family man, full of integrity and compassion. Some of my attitudes were too "modern" for his approval, though he accepted them with grace. But when it came to the real tests, he passed with flying colours.

At age 65 he would still rush to pick up heavy suitcases from me (at 35) so that "the boy doesn't hurt himself". Small in stature but with the constitution of an ox through healthy living (he smoked one cigarette in his life). So when he started getting frail, I found it hard to take:

He was ten times the man I could ever hope to be;
A hero to this child, like a giant over me.
Where is the muscle now? And where is the looming height?
Where is the booming voice? Surely this cannot be right?
The eyes that sparkled like the stars, why do they look so dim?
Don't do this to my father, Lord, I beg you, no, not him!

The fingers that taught mine double-knotting my first tie
Disfigured now and bent, injured birds that cannot fly
The face that looked so proud when he read my first report
The smoothly shaven cheeks, now why do they look so scored?
So firm and gentle was his hold the day I learned to swim
Don't do this to my father, Lord, I beg you, no, not him!

A lifetime of love such an ending should not earn,
All hapiness abaft, and all misery astern.
For if there is a Hell, how can it be worse than this?
The music of his breath, now just a laboured hiss…
The smile that shone the sun on me, why does it look so grim?
Don't do this to my father, Lord, I beg you, no, not him!

The hand that steadied mine now is trembling in its turn.
The brittle voice still trying to teach me things I 'll never learn.
The arms that held my fears wrapped against the evening nip
The lips that kissed my tears struggle just to take a sip
The tree that one time stood so tall, now just a withered fern…
Please let the candle burn, my Lord, please let the candle burn!

He slipped into a coma a week or so before his peaceful end. I suddenly realised then that the "living years" were over - I could not longer communicate with him. My chances had ran out:

If you come round again,
I will know better.
I won't forget to say
The things I should.
I'll write you every day
A simple letter,
So I may be no more
Misunderstood.

We'll do the things you want;
We'll talk for hours;
Go where you want to go
Without complaint.
Each morning I will bring you
A bunch of flowers.
Just do for me one thing:
Come back again.

If you come round again,
I'll be more careful;
Listen to your advice,
Correct my faults.
My face you'll never see
Sombre or tearful,
And smiles will replace
The frown that was.

And I will make you proud;
And I'll be prouder.
Of all my past mistakes
None will remain.
The bad things from the past
Will turn to powder.
Just do for me one thing:
Come back again.


But if you don't return,
As all are saying,
The times that we have shared
I won't resent.
And I will never cease
Hoping and praying.
I will try anyway
My ways to mend.

Though every wound does heal
Sooner or later,
I wish that you could see
The change in me.
Many regrets I have,
But one is greater:
That we will never know
What might have been.

During happy times, he would toast my mother saying "Me first", meaning "I want to die first", and she would scold him, but we knew he could not take my mother's departure, and were happy for him when he got his wish. All the time, we knew those words were not morbid, but an expression of love, so they gave rise to the following:

There's little in my daily life to faze me;
Whatever fate can throw my way, I take it in my stride;
No sadness that can break me, no happiness can daze me,
No depth I can't climb out of, no swell I cannot ride.
And yet, without you I go to pieces.
To see you hurt, my heart I think will burst.
I'm hooked and my dependency increases
So when it's time to go, let me be first.

Your tower of strength you've always called me
And all these years through thick and thin on me you could depend;
Perhaps I'm growing weaker, for I need you now to hold me
And promise me that you'll be there until the very end.
For I fear without you I'll go to pieces
Because you see, when all is said and done
You've seeped into my pores and all my creases.
I lived as two and cannot live as one.

But how to admit to you my weakness?
To tell the truth, I fear that I might scare you if I do.
For when I've known perfection, and I've beheld uniqueness
How can I risk you knowing that my only strength was you?
So I cannot let you see me go to pieces;
My panic from your eyes I'll keep submersed
And pray hard, before my courage ceases,
That when it's time to go, I will be first.

I miss him daily, 18 months on, and often catch myself wanting to pick up the phone and call him, something I never did enough of when I had the chance.

You were one hell of a guy, Baba.