Sunset

My mother called up the stairs,
"Richie! Get up for school!"
I hated the idea.
I wasn't ready.

I skipped second grade. I was "bright."
Already the youngest in my class, I was now surrounded by kids two years my senior.
I hated the idea.
I wasn't ready.

I graduated two weeks after my sixteenth birthday.
Got a job. Entered the real world.
I hated the idea.
I wasn't ready.

Went in the Navy.
Almost went to war over a placed called Cuba.
I hated the idea.
I wasn't ready.

Three of my best friends were sent to fight in Viet Nam.
None came home alive. It was my first experience with loss.
I hated the idea.
I wasn't ready.

In a lonely moment, I proposed. She accepted.
A man of 27 should be married, start a family.
I hated the idea.
I wasn't ready.

Eileen got pregnant.
It was what we both wanted. We celebrated.
I hated the idea.
I wasn't ready.

After two sons, we realized we'd failed.
We separated. She stayed in Minnesota; I went to Texas.
I hated the idea.
I wasn't ready.

Patty didn't want children. I was delighted.
Then Chris came to live with us, and she couldn't share me, so she left.
I hated the idea.
I wasn't ready.

First my parents died, very slowly; then my brother, very quickly.
I was 49, and the oldest member of my family.
I hated the idea.
I wasn't ready.

I took a job in Florida.
Eric stayed behind, to be with his fiancée, so I left without him
I hated the idea.
I wasn't ready.

Chris wanted to be out on his own. So he moved two thousand miles away.
I stood in the driveway and watched him leave.
I hated the idea.
I wasn't ready.

I'm losing my eyesight. I have a blood pressure problem, and maybe something with my liver.
Things wear out when you get older.
I hate the idea.
I'm not ready.

I've covered a lot of ground; been places and done things.
My sons want me to write it all down.
I hate the idea.
I'm not ready.