He lay there, 

in his bed,

eyes closed, 

breath shallow.

I look down, 

my heart heavy,

he taught me so much,

about perseverance,

about how to stand, 

even when legs failed.

To use words,

to elicit change,

to evoke emotion,

words to convey,

the human experience

I do this watching,

no words can I say,

even now as I write,

they fail to help.

This world I occupy,

between the living and dead,

this grayness without borders.

The ambiguity of life,

the reasons we live,

the reasons we die,

questions of life.

The collar seems tight,

my sorrow rises,

as my own throat tightens.

Prayers seem trite,

in these moments.

I’m no shaman, no healer,

I can only reach out,

hold his hand, 

stroke his head.

I leave holding the grief,

as I hold everything else.

If only we could see this,

if only we would remember

that we all stand in the dust,

of our own choosing,

seeking that blessing of life.


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