The Last Moments of Hospice
Deep in the night
I sleep erect, but awake when
Inches from my face, a stranger tells me
He is gone.
And he is, the father that existed
No longer resides in the bed
Only a hollow human carapace
That once held a soul.
Over him, they drape a flag
Pulled all the way up
And what is left
Is barely there
Since day after day,
breath by breath, he has dissipated
Into the ether
Solid becoming gas
And however slight his form
The weight of it
Crushes me.
ATM – 4/3/2022
Author’s Note:
I did not follow the prompt today, folks. I took a walk on a quite beautiful (if not pollen filled) day and listened to last week’s This American Life, which featured a piece on Hospice nurses. It’s quite powerful, but took me back to my father’s passing, and ignited grief and pain. I used NaPoWriMo to try to help alleviate some of it.
The coffee, the diesel, the methamphetamine 