Mending Dad’s Pea Coat

It keeps me warm spread across my lap
as I take one careful stitch after another
mending the worn lining
and heavy, dark blue wool
as dense as a canvas sail.
It keeps me feeling him near.

I mend Dad’s pea coat,
every stitch a part of his life I never knew,
an adventure, a story I’ll never hear.
My father’s life, full of seamless joy, strong,
his humor and spirit could not be torn,
ripped, cut or worn.

This coat kept out the wind
while he stood watch on his ship.
It kept him dry as the ocean sprayed
huddled sailors so young
—boys on their way
to a beach in Normandy.

I wonder as I reinforce the buttonholes—
How many times did the fingers of his youth
work these buttons?
One hangs on by frazzled threads, but I fix it,
fasten it for fear I’ll lose a part of him.

Too much has been lost already by his passing.