The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough
I sat and pondered whether or not there was an opportunity to engage with him one last time. The last days had been horrific, tubes, machines, nurses, doctors.
During the week I had sat there he had looked at me to give him the answers, why the pain, why the effort to breath. I had no answer, only time. Time to give him, as he had given to me for all those years.
His eyes pleaded, his fear obvious. I held his hand; I knew this was his end. There was no fight left in him. We sat together united in blood. When the moment came he let go, drifted into eternity. Ever so gently he left me, a kiss, and an exclamation of love. Later I reflected on those last minutes, being physically and spiritually engaged.
Time is all there was
With love I held your hand
A kiss and goodbye