Step Nine

You were making amends to those you have hurt

As part of your born again life of sobriety.

My mom called and asked you how it’s going.

“You know, Anita, I feel a lot better. 

There’s just one person I can’t bring myself to talk to.”

“You can wait until she’s older, Sam. 

Trust me that she would forgive you.”

That was six years ago, you’ve been dead for two.

Is it wrong to say I’m glad it was cancer,

Not pills that killed you?

You refused any narcotics at the hospital,

Perhaps the twelve steps work after all.

I wonder when you planned on finishing the last of your amends.

I wish I could tell you now that I forgive you.

I forgive you for stealing money out of my piggy bank

While I was at school learning long division.

You were desperate for a fix, I was itching to get to recess.

I’m sorry you died and I never got to tell you myself.