Checking the Weather

On a Sunday 30 years ago
Dad called.
It was the first
Of 20 years of Sunday calls.

Exchanges were short,
Mostly we compared weathers.
He never spoke of his deteriorating health,
His long slide.

Never seemingly very personal,
Yet we both thought
These brief, often inane, dialogues
Mattered.

Two ill-equipped men,
Neither comfortable with emotional conversation,
Reached to create unbreakable bonds
Without betraying their imagined selves.

Constancy was the substance,
That, not unlike religion,
Provided nurture
And integrity to our relationship.

I miss the talk we never had,
Where love and happiness
Took center stage.
Now on Sundays I call my children.