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.