But mention design
and his eyes would light up.
He'd grab pen and paper.
He'd get all tied up.

He'd sketch out a kitchen,
an ergonomic design,
all the major appliances
in triangular lines.

When he left late that summer,
we guessed he went west
to finish his studies
away from his past.

But it seems a year later,
he felt hope was gone,
so he ended his life
as he lived it, alone.

I don't know how he felt,
despair, pain, or fear.
I don't know if he thought
of his family waiting here.

I know he had sorrows,
wife and child lost in Hue;
a fight with depression,
and poor health on the way.

His second wife died
as they drove home one night.
He carried that blame,
never brought it to light.

I am sure, knowing Al,
that he thought it all through.
Perhaps he sketched out
the angles to use.

However he planned it,
it didn't take long,
Shotgun to the chest
and then he was gone.

For years we had hoped
to see him drive in,
to collect his belongings,
to settle here again.

But now he's not coming,
and all we have left
are some boxes, some memories,
much sorrow to heft.

I miss Brother Al
and his kind, friendly smile.
Since I can't say good-bye,
I'll miss him awhile.

Maybe some distant day,
when we're able to forgive,
we will talk of our memories
and again Al will live.