Hero

You're a hero.
At least to me.
You're a watchman, a rescuer, a figure in the window of a lighthouse.
You speak of logic and reason but for a long time
our bond has been like spontaneous seasons.
Glaring sun and suddenly stormy;
tempests couldn't move us, we were that stubborn.
Instead of reality, there was worship, myth and a holograph figment.
You were an idol of my own depiction.
I thought you fell,
but as I got older and wiser as well,
the pedestal became a small step; one you skipped off.
Still, every single time you told me off I
blamed you.
I saw a tarnished knight, but I was jousting with myself.
It was me, my childish fairy tale need
to know who I was, who I wanted to be.
I wanted you to define me; that's easy.
I think I'm still interpreting "me".
Well, you're partially me,
but I have ownership and have gathered insight,
which might help us out.
Whenever we next inevitably fall out,
remember: I love you.
Not the you I imagined and adored.
The one I know is real, warts and all.
And heart attacks, death, slit wrists, cries for help,
they're rungs on a ladder that, in the end,
matters.
The love between us is really all that matters.
We've come this far, why not grow?
Even though you're no Prince Charming, to be honest.
Your lack of tact is
sometimes inordinately alarming but you're mine.
For the foreseeable future, or forever, that will be more than fine.
And now he needs you. More than I do.
Let's not skirt around the issue; some hurts
will take more than a tissue and a whinge.
Like a door that can't open without a hinge, he's shut.
So here's my advice. Tell him once, perhaps even twice
that you love him more than he loves himself.
Take the heavy objects off the shelf and let it hang there,
weightless. Our lives are a mess and you're the rescuer.
Never before has this ever been truer.
Age doesn't mean we don't need you as much.
Please wrap him up in that thing that you have;
this thing that I can't explain, but it crops up when I see your
name on the phone:
"Dad."