Diary of Your Last Breath

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December 3, 2019

She was displayed before me

with her eyes closed

and mouth agape,

leaving me to wonder whether

she died in terror or awe.

 

Was her last breath

the honest gurgle

I’ve been seeing

for the last few days,

that I took comfort

in hearing restart

every time I called her name

between bouts of irregular apnea

(our last little private game)-

or the silence caused by Benadryl?

 

All I know is that

the call came at 6 am

and I spent one hour with her

and then walked into

the last of the darkness

and the first of the light.

 

My first breath outside the hospital

stretched back thirty years

and each tear was

full of joy and sorrow,

the ash of memory.

 

By the timeI got home

the long movie

I had shared with her

was over.

 

January 3, 2020

Now, hope fails me.

Grief is my truth.

Yet, I refuse to be

deluded by grief

nor abandon hope

one month since

your passing.

 

Your death was your

greatest gift to me

and now I must struggle

with how to live with it

and accept it kindly

because in the end

you folded your life into my timeline,

fitting everything and all neatly

between my cancer and cure.

 

For 10,604 days-29 years, 12 days

I am grateful  for the

joy only you(I) can embrace

the sorrow

just only you(I)  can endure.

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