As i watch you breathing
I look deep into your eyes
I try to read your face
For clues of any feeling
Pain or peace
I know your body is tired
Everyone already whispered into your ear
That it would be okay for you to let go
No one would blame you
If you couldn’t wake up
This wasn’t the first time
That the thought of you being gone
Crossed my mind
But it was the first time
That it was real
It was happening
The news got worse
But somehow my delusion survived
Maybe he’ll open his eyes
Maybe a miracle will happen
The last time you were awake
We were carefree
No one had any doubts or worries
It was just a bump in our daily routine
Those last words
Like we said everyday
“Alright, we’ll see you later.”
Without the slightest thought
That things might change
In an instant
We saw you later
Cradled by your burgundy bedsheet
With the paramedics on either side of you
Your only response
The sounds of deep slumber
A sound that I had never associated with fear
To the outsider you were asleep
I keep wondering
if even you knew what was happening
As you slept
You were losing your mind.
But was that you?
The still, quiet body that lay in the hospital bed before me
Rocked by the constant breath of a machine
or were you already long gone?
I return to that morning
A thousand times in my head
What could I have done?
If only I had known
Where the choices in those moments
would have dropped us.
It could have been nothing
But instead it turned our world upside down
for a moment.
Clarity comes in waves
Like the ocean rolling in
To wash the shock and pain from my mind
And open my eyes wider
Past my own perspective
To see the divinity in the universe
Your body is gone
But I still feel your presence
In the things you used to say
The places you used to be.
The feelings that overwhelm me
are not of sadness
But of disbelief
I have to remind myself that you’re missing
Even though I feel the absence.
And as I stand in the back of the room
watching your last, labored breaths
But no struggle, no fight
No panic or response from you
I had the slightest glimmer of hope
That the life would return to you
And you would be back to normal
In at least your final moments.
In a way I’m glad it didn’t.
Because that would have meant that it was you
Laying there, taking your last breaths
Before my very eyes
And I don’t think I could live with that.