I don't remember you getting sick.
When you became frail and bent i do not recall.
The last days and nights of coughing i did not hear.
I have no recollections of you in a hospital bed with your weakened smile hidden behind an oxygen mask.
I don't recall hearing your frail voice struggling to encourage me.
Like so many things you still live in my mind.
The Valley has not changed. You are there in the old farmhouse now.
I see you in the laundry room.
If i were to say to you "But you died..."
I know you would answer, "Well, I'm here now."