I RECEIVED the call at
10:00, I think it was. Night-time.
You were already gone a
little time since then.
I waited in the hallway for
my wife to gather a few things,
I was impatient to go. I already
felt like something was missing. And
I felt this enormous rush
or will to see you again.
The children were dumb or
naïve
Upstairs. They had become
Pa-less
And didn’t know it yet.
We decided not to tell them
but left them a note.
If you awake, ring this
number.
But they did not wake.
We climbed into the car and
traversed the two or three suburbs to where you lay
And where you lived for the
last couple of years of your life.
I am loath to call them sad
years. I
Like to think that even in
these times of
Immobilization and at times
discomfort,
Of watery meals and forced
socialisation,
Of your sideways view of
the television and the hoped for
Social visits that came
sporadically,
I like to think there was
something in it for you even then.
We did not talk much in the
car.
I felt my grief beginning
to rise.
‘So it’s come to this
then’,
I thought to myself. No, no
reason for words, reminiscences
Or speculation.
I took an enormous breath
before I slowly drifted in,
Like a ghost,
To the death room.
Mother was there as well as
your eldest son, my brother, and my sister, your only daughter
It all felt so new. All
new, all of
Us still slightly unaware
of our emotions and our thoughts in this new experience
Suddenly transported in time.
The stillness in the room,
The grasping of trying to
come to terms.
My first sight of my only
dead body.
You looked strangely
tranquil but enormously dead on your bed.
Flat on your back, your
hands clasped together sitting on
Your forever silent chest.
I wondered if you had been
found like this,
Or were you rearranged, or
toyed with somehow,
By the worker who found you
there,
Suddenly not breathing.
I made some glib comment
about souls circulating around rooms once they were dead.
We all looked at each
other, all out of our depth,
Or me, at any rate.
I thought of mother and the
long, sad burden, and my heart went out to her,
And my breathing changed,
Short sad gasps.
A couple of hours expired
somehow with us all being
Unconscious of time. It was
about midnight.
We all had to go- that is,
the living, not the dead.
Two of us left, so just
mother and I, sitting helplessly,
Strongly aware of this
unexpected change,
The finality of it. I felt
like I should go, but blurted out, aloud
‘How do I suddenly leave
the room?’
I went over to you, father,
And placed my hands under
the blanket.
An overwhelming urge to
touch you, like I did,
The day before, touching
the hands and arms of the living.
Except this final time,
The dead. I tried to
unclasp your hands,
Fascinated by their new
rigidness. The fingers already stiff,
The warmth and breath of
life expired two hours ago.
I went out into the hallway
with the others,
Right outside the door, and
leant against the wall.
We all gave mother some
time alone. Again,
The enormity of it all. How
does one say goodbye
To the one you have been
married to for over sixty years.
What do you remember? What
is replayed at this time
Round and round your mind?
As we left I thought again
of yesterday. The mouth of yours,
Opening and closing, trying
to form words,
Without sound coming out.
An me just smiling back like a fool,
Desperate for anything that
might make you feel better.
And then telling the doctor
just a half hour later
That we want morphine to
kick in.
We want to help accelerate our father’s death.
And the awful deep gasps in
finding yourself using these words.
I remember, powerfully, the
sight of a new born, the watery
Tumbling out onto the bed. And
now this,
This newest sight which
will also never leave me.
2 comments:
I'm so sorry to read this. There are no words to express the enormity and depth of these feelings. Next year, in February, it will be ten years since my dear papa passed away. It feels as close as yesterday. My love goes to you and your mum and siblings. Stay close to each other and miss and mourn him in whatever way feels right for you.
Sulli xo
Thank you. It's lovely to hear from you and receive again some of your lovely sensitivity. I will take these suggestions on board.
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