Saturday, October 25, 2014

This is how I come to the bedside

To comfort and care in last hours of life


I know exactly how to walk into the room when it is closed
when nurses say, “Nothing more to do, she is dying.
You might as well go home.”

I know how to come without knowing a thing
            Simply, with so much love
Come into the room, into the sacred time.

Walk with soft feet, to the bedside, lean gently
to the form, barely raises the sheet 
            Your breath near.

Say, “I am here
so grateful to come to you,” as each word
is heard by one hungry for you to be close
but perhaps too ill to respond.

Words you share of who you are,
how long to be there, and to pull a chair
very close, intimate, in the utterances of
your heart.  

And smile because this simple time and
complex, sorrowful, dear time  profound
but just time waiting, wondering, and perhaps
            more waiting
            never really knowing.

But one need not be alone
but talked through it.

“I am here. May I touch your hand?
Put it under yours to let you know I care?”

“Your life made such a difference.”
Say the things you love, value, appreciate.
Sing or hum a gentle song.
            Read a loved poem.

As you are there to let the one
know he or she is safe.

Please let me know your thoughts

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