NPM – 3 of 30

Today marks 3 months since my dad died.

Poem from Inside His Hands

when the man takes to his bed
he starts on his left side
and puts his left arm out so that
I am facing up, my palm exposed
sometimes I am slightly cupped
my other rests along his side

he likes to drift off with the blanket
pulled all the way over his exposed ear
a habit that his first daughter
recognizes as one she has herself
she seems both surprised and comforted
as the truth of it washes over her
she fixes him just so, gets his acknowledgement
that it’s good, that he’s comfortable

the other daughter, the second & last one
watches this exchange, honors its importance
but she remains in the room, he asks for music
and she facilitates that, adjusting the volume
until again he acknowledges it’s to his liking
then without fail, during these, the man’s last days,
she slides her right hand into me and squeezes
I squeeze back and tears come to her eyes

she sometimes stays a moment more, whispers to him
caresses my skin gently, maybe trying to make sure
she doesn’t forget the moment, unsure how many
more times she’ll be able to slip her hand so easily
into my openness and squeeze, unsure how much
longer it will be until I can no longer squeeze back

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2 Comments Add yours

  1. You have captured the essence of his last days. He was so lucky to have you and Sandy helping him in the transition. Thank you both.

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