'Tis
The night before
We chatted
Over the phone
You and I
Dad.
Never realizing
On the morn
We'd be rushing
Helter shelter
To your bedside.
Through
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
Meeting.
All
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
Again.
Until
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.
