He lies unconscious on the bed; his breathing raspy and uneven.
She is ever at his side, always there, still believing.
The monitor is the only sound; irregularly it counts the beat.
He has battled long and hard, only now he’ll face defeat.
The morphine drip is merciful; this man’s proud heart begins to slow.
This year he’d had dementia, what he feels we cannot know.
She holds his hand in both of hers and whispers there a silent prayer.
When she looks up at his face again his spirit is no longer there.
In private, she allows a tear, she had stayed strong; she was his rock.
No matter how prepared one is, this final moment is a shock,