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October 27th
by Stephen OgdenSummoned by nurses
I drive across the Bridge
On another clear Autumn day,
The contrails high against the sky.
Your breathing is ragged now
As I, the last to attend,
Sit beside your bed
And hold your cooling hand.
The Chaplain is there,
To pray for you and us.
She offers comfort
And communion.
The bedside table becomes the Altar,
The medical files,
So unnecessary now,
Piled upon the floor.
The ancient prayers
Remembered from conditioned days,
Flow peacefully from my lips,
"Our Father, which art in heaven"
The anointing with oils,
Your Faith bought to you,
A sliver of wafer
Placed under you lip.
Round your bed
Your children pray to their God.
At this moment, in this room
We are One.
The moment passes,
The reality is now
Your breathing
As it falters towards the end.
Yet still you breathe on.
For twenty seconds stillness,
Then a sigh, a rasping intake,
And life goes on.
12/14/2010 Author's Note: This is the second of a cycle I have written concerning my father's death.
Posted on 12/14/2010
Copyright © 2024 Stephen Ogden
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 12/14/10 at 03:11 PM That last stanza just floors me, and I've had to read it a couple of times. Everything about this is just stunning. |
| Posted by Nadia Gilbert Kent on 12/18/10 at 03:43 AM Welcome to Pathetic. This is absolutely beautiful. |
| Posted by Paganini Jones on 01/10/11 at 10:15 AM Thank you for writing these - only those who have walked that road can know, as you do, the beauty and... love... somehow even a fierce joy there can be in those last precious days |
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