His gentle, kind hearted soul caught the attention of many.
The way his humble, but frail body graced the face of the earth
Made it almost unbelieving that someone so ill, was so jubilant.
The way I laid my petite head full of blonde, thin, curls
On his plump stomach made me his favorite of six.

He loved the sound of the soft, gentle waves,
As he would lie on the grainy sand of the California beach
With the ones he loved.
As he watched his youngest son stand ever so tall
In his crisp Marines uniform, about to make something of his young self,
He never knew it would be his last visit.


The antique, red, bricked church awaited him every Sunday morning.


As the radiant sun rose, he would stiffly get out of bed,


Make his coffee as black as night, and begin the usual routine.


He had a great passion for his God.


As the church choir sang the grace of the hymns,


He would gladly sing along.


After the joyful hours of the intense church service,


He would gather his close friends and family that attended,


And make a day worth living.


Under all of this, came the cold, dull, white building on 3000 Mack Road.


As the poisonous chemicals entered his body,


He vowed he would never give up.


When I witnessed this with my own clueless eyes,


I never thought he would come to an end.


He loved the aroma of his rose garden.


The way the smell drifted through the air gathered many


And the thought of growing his own vegetables tickled him even more.


Days, weeks, months, and years went by.


As the time came, no one knew how to comfort the tears


That drifted down my cheek.


As I reside my everyday life, I see his existence.


As I stood by his side,


I knew he would give me inspiration and that he would be my hero.