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The Catholic priest came and gave last rites; you were comatosed, though I expect you heard; they say one does, even then, shalom, amen. We held your hands most of that last day, one of us staying, whilst the other (went for drink or such) went silently away, but too long or much. Puffed up hand and arm, your eyes closed; tubes and wires coming out here and there; all those machines keeping you alive, pumping away, softly noisy. We never gave up you'd survive, watched and held and talked until the last eased out breath. A lonely place, some say, is death. We were there, breaking up at your departure; didn't want you to go; but you fought until end, stoic, silent, Seneca like, our son, and these hearts, which no time or words or prayers or creed( at this time) can mend.
0
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
NOT MEND.
The Catholic priest came and gave last rites; you were comatosed, though I expect you heard; they say one does, even then, shalom, amen. We held your hands most of that last day, one of us staying, whilst the other (went for drink or such) went silently away, but too long or much. Puffed up hand and arm, your eyes closed; tubes and wires coming out here and there; all those machines keeping you alive, pumping away, softly noisy. We never gave up you'd survive, watched and held and talked until the last eased out breath. A lonely place, some say, is death. We were there, breaking up at your departure; didn't want you to go; but you fought until end, stoic, silent, Seneca like, our son, and these hearts, which no time or words or prayers or creed( at this time) can mend.
A FATHER IN CONVERSATION WITH HIS DEAD SON. R.I.P. OLE.
#son#father#mourning
terry-collett
Written by
terry-collett
English
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
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