1994

 

I've carried nineteen years of memories

for twenty-eight years.

Counting his beginning steps at six months,

then, as a toddler, his trusting little hand 

holding my finger as we walked outside together.

Playing in Lake Michigan

at four years old.

Soothing his hurts from early spills

on his bike at six years.

Estimating the length of the bass we caught

in the Grand River when he was fourteen.

Worrying the hours while waiting for him

to return home; driving at sixteen.

Timing the miles during Forest Hills Central 

Track and Cross Country meets at seventeen.

Calculating his climbs while hiking with Ross Peterson

on the Appalachian Trail at eighteen.

Crying the tears over his death

in November of nineteen ninety-four.

Saying the prayers at his gravestone

when I'm forty-six, or seventy-four.

Carrying years of memories up the slopes;

 memories as permanent as mountains.

© 2022 Richard Havenga

End Note: 

This year Aaron would be 47. Born on April 2, 1975.

I was 46 when he died at age 19, on November 20, 1994.

Photo Locations:

1. First Home - Cascade, Michigan - Photo by Mary Havenga

2. Lake Michigan - Charles Mears State Park - Pentwater, Michigan 

3. Mom & Dad's Farm - Ada, Michigan

4. East Grand Rapids

5. Appalachian Trail National Park  - Photo by Ross Peterson 

6. West Elk National Wilderness Area - Colorado

Roof of Stars

Each night,
before going to bed,
he stepped outside
to check the sky.

On clear nights
he would wait
under the roof of stars,
hoping to witness
a meteorite.

If one streaked
across his view,
he imagined it to be
a special message
from his son, 
waiting up there,
for him to join him.

© 2017 Richard Havenga

The Last Thing on Your Mind

In loving memory of Aaron Richard Havenga  (April 2, 1975 ~ November 20, 1994)


"I could have loved you better, didn't mean to be unkind. 
You know that was the last thing on my mind."  ~ Tom Paxton © 1978


I was your father.
You were my only son.

The dreams I dreamed
of us together,
exploring the West,
you as a future father,
have gone unrealized.

And as you passed
from your vibrant life,
nineteen, alone,
and far from home,
we never got to say good bye.

What was the last thing on your mind?

© 2017 Richard Havenga

The Last Thing on My Mind - Tom Paxton