These weeks I can see the end
You decline as each day passes
First oxygen,
Then the mask.
The gradual filling of your lungs
Breathing difficult
Straining, rasping,
My heart is torn seeing you like this.
In desperation I ask
When will this end?
No one can say.
I come every day
I sit holding your hand
You hold me as never before
My father of all these years
Like when I was a child,
Now you are the child.
I see the fear
This time you know
You are beat,
You know it’s your end.
But you fight
You struggle.
I go home
I cry for your suffering.
Your eyes betray you
Your strength ebbing
You succumb
To treatments that hurt you
You have spent your life
Doing as you were told
You suffer this final indignity.
The last morning,
You are scrubbed
Cleaned and polished
You eat more than ever
Did you know it was to be today?
Breathing is difficult.
We are holding hands.
I ask if we will have a bet on Saturday?
You nod yes.
A man comes,
Holy communion, you are set now
You path is clear,
I watch as your journey begins.
Your face slackens
A nurse comes
Sits with us
I watch
You fade
Slowly
Then
Suddenly
Gone.
No fight left
Relief for you,
Now in a better place.
Written for: http://mindlovemisery.wordpress.com/2014/02/09/prompt-42-tired-surrender/
Morpethroad 
A sad and beautiful poem Michael. it reminded me so much of what happened when my mother died 28 years ago. The feeling of helplessness – just sitting holding her hand. Despite it being so long ago, tears still form as I think about it.
They were tough days Lyn ones we never forget.
Micheal this is outstanding a touching and emotional piece, a very honest reflection on a painful time
Thank you Yves, the prompt was such a fitting title in summing up my dad’s last days.
This brought tears… Of the moment I have yet to experience, heartfelt my friend.
Thanks Jenny, we all have our own experience this was mine, yours will be yours, you will be ok.
I have friends around me to support me… I can only hope.. Thank you my friend.
You are strong you will well supported you know that.
Hard to read. #LumpInMyThroat
Beautifully written Michael. I very much appreciate the way that the words you write produce pictures so clear I feel like they are photographs. In this case, it is difficult to think about.
Thank you for sharing,
ML
x
Thanks Lou, I appreciate you reading and that the words connect with you. Thanks again.
🙂
When I started reading this piece, I knew it had to be a memory. What a loving memorial to your father. My dad died in his sleep while taking a nap, and my mother had Alzheimer’s, drifting off peacefully at about age 93. Their deaths were peaceful, for which I was very grateful even though I suffered the loss afterwards.
I don’t think it matters the method we all suffer loss after. Thanks Patricia for your comment.
A difficult topic, but well done. The distance between the subject and observer is perfect for clearly relaying the emotional relationship between the two.
Thank you so much good Sir I appreciate your comment. Please call again.
Beautiful and sad, just lovely! 🙂 🙂
Thank you so much Helen.
Very touching and beautifully written. To me it feels like an awesome responsibility to help someone else have a good death. I’m glad you were there for your father.
Thanks Heather, I am not sure about responsibility more desire to be with him as he struggled his last few days. Thanks again for reading.
Maybe privilege is a better word … my thought of responsibility is probably coming more from my experiences with my pets. Animal or human, it’s an indelible experience. Thank you for sharing.
May your dad continue to rest in peace.
{Hugs}
Thanks RoSy, (hugs back at you)