We walk back into the room of our canvas.

I grab hold of dad’s hand, reaching for Tom’s as well.

A quiet presence of hearts beating, mouths breathing, and silence.

I pull closer, until the heat of our bodies permeates between us.

We envelope our fingers within one another.

Tom let’s go of our line, slipping away from my hand.

I look up to dad in confusion, his gaze staring at the floor.

Memories seep through our hands, motionless on our canvas.

And then it goes blank, again. I’m confused.

Dad rests his hand on the wall, remembering this moment.

His broken self, too hard to mend as I watch him crumble.

Tears soak the floor, silence soaks these walls.

Tom walks back in the room, he has reminded us of a time before him.

We think back to the nights when arguments echoed

through our bones, down to our core. Screaming lungs and bulging eyes.

Tom carries dad back on his feet, helping him forget this pain.

Sometimes I wonder where our happiness is hidden,

maybe back in the snowy mountain tops in New Hampshire

we often spoke of, riding past. And there are times when we find

happiness in the radio, singing the evening blues.

Yet, I see our happiness in family.

A happiness, that tends to lose its way more than once.

And we accept this happiness with our silence.

We walk towards the door, away from this canvas we have created.

We walk out together, closing this door quietly behind us.

A darkness, a vibrant sound of laughter as we smile.

We are here now, awaiting our future in this dark, unfamiliar room.

When our happiness finds its way from those snowy mountain tops.

Joining us for a toast, celebrating our laughter, and forgetting our pain.