Still I Work (2)

I keep going,
breathing underwater,
holding on to hope
and a worry for the future.

I fear I won’t grow old in peace.
Not scared of death,
but of arriving at the end
empty, used up, unseen.
Years traded for usefulness
then shelved when I slow down.

Will I be remembered
as the father who was always absent,
or the one who held it all together
so no one else had to?

Some nights I lie in silence
with a body that won’t rest
and thoughts that won’t quit.
My wife dreams beside me
while I map out every step
we still have to take.

I solve things before they break.
Keep the systems moving,
hold the calls, lead the fix.
No spotlight, just expectation.
But if I stepped away,
how long before they noticed?