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

            Humble

            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