Everything

Everything is now up for my questioning.
He taught me everything that I believe
because he did everything right.
I take the vitamins,
I take a jog.
I take a long drive and contemplate
the old wooden wagons and lives that drove
over the flint hills, stuck in the mud or
stricken with some foreign fever.
I read my bible.
I read biographies of great people and
their real life secrets of scandal to success.
I settled down, got married, had a kid.
I go to work, drink coffee, mail the mortgage.
I do everything as closely to his direction,
like a finger following the blue highway on a map,
in order to stay on the streets he recommended.
I don't only follow his footprints,
I put my own foot down inside his footprints, I stare
down at my smaller shoe, with room to grow
into his greater, wider, longer example of life.
I laugh, I cry, make jokes.
I write, I pray, I donate time and sometimes my clothes.
I do everything he told me to do.
And he still died.
Too young to see my child start school.
Too young to read my words.
Too young to see me follow his life in the way that he wanted.
I was doing everything just to make him proud.
Now everything seems wrong
since he isn't here to see it.
And everything I did, I'm not sure if I should do
anymore.