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Still Invoking the Protector of Angels

With your newspaper folded
And set aside,
It was your last night of reading
And trying to live your life as normal.

Later that night,
You would fall twice to the floor
Trying to make it to a bedside commode,
And I knew you wouldn't leave your bed again.

After that, you lived a few more days
Uncomfortably in your bed,
Eating and drinking very little,
Gazing upward and to the wall,
Most certainly seeing angels.

On your last full day on earth,
A nurse-aide came to the house
To give you a bedside bath and it was like the lady
Who anointed Jesus with perfume for his burial;
She was very gentle and kind but there was a tear in your eye.

Aunt Maxine arrived, a planned visit,
To see her sister, your wife, after a long absence
Caused by distance and age;
This alone was sad with so much of mom already gone
With the trial of fire she's endured with her Parkinson's disease.

At 11: 00 P.M. that night,
Everyone went to bed;
I gave you medicine mixed in pudding
After telling you I had pudding for you to try.
You swallowed your pudding and told me it wasn't bad.
Even in these last few hours you had sweetness for others
But nothing left for yourself.

I woke up at 1: 30A.M.
And you were breathing heavily and strained
With your oxygen off; you were rocking and saying no
Aunt Maxine woke as well.
I reconnected your oxygen and called a nurse
To reevaluate you for pain.

The nurse arrived about an hour later
And prepared ativan and morphine
Which she gave you;
The nurse didn't seem to think you were in great pain
But the way you were holding onto your bed rail and rocking and saying no
Made me sick to my heart that you were.

After the nurse left and aunt Maxine went back to bed,
I kissed your forehead and told you, you were a good boy;
So characteristic of your humble sweetness,
You merely replied, "I hope so."
I then lied down on the floor near your bed
And prayed to Jesus that your journey would not be long
And with terrible pain.

I somehow fell asleep in my sadness and fear
And with your oxygen machine at my one side
And mom's monitor on the other.
At 7: 20 A.M. I heard Aunt Maxine with Mom,
I think Aunt Maxine called for me to come get mom.

I rose from the floor
And I didn't hear you struggling;
I immediately went to your bed;
Your oxygen was off again,
Your chest was calm and still
But your hand remained clutching the bed rail.

I'm certain, there were times
In the last nearly fifty years
When I was a burden to you, sweet man,
But you were definitely
Not a burden to me
In the last two and a half.

All I want to do is talk with you again
About music or cars or politics or the weather;
I merely desire to see you sitting at the kitchen table
Or setting your newspaper down to make your way to the porch.

I'll try to hold onto this love for as long as I can, dear friend.

poem by Uriah Hamilton
Added by Poetry Lover
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