From this side of the grave

There's not too much to say

Things have been OK

I'm taking it day by day

I imagine your face

It's idiosyncratic traits

And how they might behave

Here now, on this side of the grave

Mom still talks to you in remembrance and in pain

Misses the smart things you had to say

Keeps those same out-of-date pictures framed

Dad always mentions you when he prays

Doesn't feel right on holidays

He hurts but acts like he has everything squared away

Sometimes I put on Libertinaje

Saving a roll of your foreign money that they couldn't change

And I pour out songs to dedicate

For whatever it's all worth to you, anyway

You know we all miss you in our own ways

Upstairs in that room you'd sometimes stay, your violin forever waits

And a very Kohlhoff resting place is nestled on the mantelpiece

It was probably never your kind of space but it's better than some churchyard cliché

See part of you with us remains, on this side of the grave

When we'd awkwardly embrace

I'd always feel what you never learned all that well to say

Dangerously tucked away

Emotions were restraints you just could not escape

For so long we walked separate ways

Oddly enough you're nearer to me now as an incorporeal haze

Near the end I got to show how I've changed

I think you glimpsed some of my newfound wisdom and strength

And were proud of me in your final days

I write with all good grace

To honor you, not based on what my feelings convey, but how you might appreciate

Though sadly this letter will stay

On this side of the grave