Tuesday, 24 May 2016

Until Next Time, We Meet (May 24, 2016)

The night before
We chatted
Over the phone
You and I

Never realizing
On the morn
We'd be rushing
Helter shelter
To your bedside.

A mid-November
Ontario snowstorm
On unplowed
Rural gravel roads.

Your voice
Filled with joy
As your beloved Leafs
Were victorious
Over the Chicago Blackhawks.

By your bedside
I grasp
Your cold clammy hand
In mine.

Inane things
We did chatter
Finding comfort
In the sound
Of your voice.

As the hour
Approach 1 am
And bed
For me.

The doctor said
You had irreversible
Brain damage
At the Saturday morning

I could think
Were the final words
That I said
Before hanging up.

Giving us
The medical options
To furthering
Dad's care.

"Good-bye Dad
I love you."

To which
We responded:

"Remove the machines
It's his wish
For this."

As I gave him
One final kiss
Of good-bye
Upon the cheek.

Never seeing
His live body

The family viewing
At the funeral home
Before the funeral.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: I was returning a phone call that my mom had made earlier, in the evening, while I was still, working my afternoon shift, for an electronic firm's distribution centre, in Mississauga, Ontario. The sound of my dad's voice surprised me, as he was suppose to be, still hospitalized, before his long trip, to London, Ontario, to see the heart specialist, at University of Western Ontario.

A day doesn't go by, which I wish, I had said more, to him, over the phone. Despite the fact, I was the last person, for whom, he talked to, before his fatal heart attack, the next morning, on November 13th (a Friday). Only, to be revived, by local paramedic, but the damage was, already done. At 21:50, on Sunday, November 15, 1998, my dad was declared dead.


  1. This is so filled with heartbreaking details... one of those pivot points of life... and imagine that phone call.

    1. Bjorn, I will never forget those 3 days,as long as, I live. Can close my eyes, as everything is played back, in 4K detail.

  2. Like a train wreck, there is never a good time for a death of a loved one. My mother-in-law passed away at 90, & it still devastated my sweet wife; me, too, actually. Usually, it is unexpected, so if you had argued with the loved one, you are showered in guilt. Most of the time, there is no real closure this side of the veil.

    1. Sadly, you're right, Glenn, in spite of this, the pain is, still there.

  3. This is really, truly beautiful. Had me on the verge of tears.

    1. Thank you, Marilyn, it never gets any easier, with each passing year.

  4. I had tears in my eyes as I read through your poem.
    Beautifully written.

    Lots of love,

    1. Thank you, Sanaa, but please don't cry, for me, tears of sadness. Rather, share with me, the love and support, he gave, over the years.

  5. I feel this loss, deeply. I am so sorry for your loss, Therisa.

    1. Thank you, De, but it would utter selfishness, for wanting my dad, to live, as a vegetable. I respect and honour my dad, too much, to inflect such hate, upon him, when his spirit has left the mortal shell, we call, our dad.

  6. I'm so sorry for your loss-- your pain and love are evident in this poem. Your care comes through in the small, lovingly rendered details here. The Ontario snowstorm; unplowed country roads. Your father's love for the Leafs. The feeling of his hand clasped in yours.

    I hope writing this piece helped you, in some small way, grapple with this tragedy, and that these memories bring you comfort

    /internet hugs/

    1. Thank you, Thunderandtea. Yes, it reminds me, despite his severe medical condition, he always found time, to listen and support me.

  7. Beautifully written. Unfortunately we never know when death will arrive at our door. It's usually when we at least expect it.

  8. Yes, the pain still remains. I am glad you could tell him you loved him and that you all loved him enough to let him go. Still the pain remains.

  9. This hits too close to home. tears falling now......I need to take a break from reading. Beautifully, heartbreakingly penned. Bringing people back -- the capability of medicine now -- and sometimes there is a miracle and sometimes there is not. I am so very sorry for your loss.

  10. The saddest departure of all, and the most final. I hope you are blessed and able to cherish the memories of your father.

  11. Such detail, and I remember my experience of my own dad's passing so well, but mostly bury it. "Goodbye Dad, I love you" - those words exactly, exactly. Thank yoy so much for sharing this with us. So sorry for your loss.

  12. You write your beautiful soul, Therisa. Very touch and mirrored a similar exchange to my father and his passing. Keep those memories alive whenever you can. They will give comfort along the way.

  13. Ships that pass
    in the life decades
    never meeting.. i tried
    i tried but pretty much
    the only thing my dad told
    me after leaving our family
    when i was three.. mad that
    my mother then wanted to
    raise us more than making
    money.. SO LONG ago.. iS
    boy.. be a man.. perhaps
    the military can make ya one..
    and when our child was going
    into heart surgery.. he said..
    make sure you
    raise him
    like a boy..
    before the
    child died..
    problem was..
    my father never
    lEarned to be a
    man first by being
    a woman.. my friend..
    a lesson lEarned by
    i oF diVine feminine
    Love finAlly setting
    the father in
    the face
    of mirror
    me free from
    reins of Father
    who never sadly
    reAlly became a man
    as A REAL MAN WiLL
    love no matter
    as Real
    human MEN do..
    without excuses
    for what they are
    afraid they are or
    not themselves..
    Human Nature is
    easy to understand..
    once the real fears do come out
    to play in ways of liGht and dARk..:)


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