By, Emalyn Remington
My dad didn’t get to read this poem. We talked about me writing it, but I kept putting it off. Maybe it was because the idea of writing about my father’s perception of Heaven seemed like something that was far away, something that I had time to write about. We talked about what Heaven looked like to him plenty of times. That his friends were there. That his father was there. I’m not a religious person- spiritual yes, but I wouldn’t say that I subscribe to the same ideas that my father did. My dad was religious. He believed in his God and attended church regularly, often chastising me for not doing the same. That being said, Rob’s ideas of eternal salvation weren’t fluffy clouds or palaces or beautiful gardens. There wasn’t an old guy in sandals quoting Scripture. My dad’s Heaven begins with a couple old benches and a park overlooking a quiet stream. It is filled with all of his cohorts that predeceased him- to which there were many. It is comforting for me to know that Rob is in good company up there in his heaven, snowboarding or visiting a beach or painting. But while I’m happy that my dad is well taken care of and in a better place than he was here on Earth- I can’t help but miss my Old Man a little extra today.