You have five children, not three.
Their names are unlisted, but they live
whole and wonderful lives, entirely
You have nine grandchildren, not five,
and a great-grandchild, actually.
He was unplanned and illuminates
the lives of those around him
You are not among these lucky few.
You were survived by wives.
Multiple, marred matriarchs.
You were survived by an ocean
You opted out of these pieces,
of the half of your life that you ran from
when you were too young and too drunk
to know better.
They go on, anyway, joyful and proud
and bruised deeply enough that it still hurts
to read an obituary that omits their existence.
They live, full of love and a heartache
that knits them tightly together.