Flashback of that Moment

On the day my son was born,
my father was sheltered
in the same hospital,
getting chemo through an IV.
His room, two floors above mine.
My mother somehow,
managed to dress him.
He held on to her with one hand,
the other clutching a wheeled IV stand
walking his measured steps.
As he entered my room
to meet his new grandson,
glaring hospital lights plus
the striking white walls enhanced
the soft yellow tint of his skin,
one, I had not noticed before.
It was the first time
that I realized he was dying.
Each year, as my son’s birthday arrives
I see flashbacks of that moment.
Think, of all the times he’s missed.
He would have been, the best grandfather.