This is the story of
My father, dying
Mother holds his hand
I am too far away to reach
We are at home
It should be soft
Instead it feels brutal
In this moment at least
Outside of the windows
The fields sway
They will move beyond my father
Afterwards
It feels as if I should help
But it is a work
Outside of my endurance
To say it is hard
Seems small
Except it is
We all must leave
We all must have a hand to hold
Nothing more
Nothing less
The way of the world
The passing of life
The silence of being
Beyond reality
She is with me
I will always have her tiny hand in mine
There is a whole world of comfort in that
And as my father lies dying
I feel a relief
I feel that we will be safe.
What a remarkable, honest and sad reflection on life, death and how it impacts upon us. Those times come and go and we remain being ourselves and living our own lives which are entirely up to us.
ReplyDeleteI love the comfort in the tiny hand holding yours. And love your closing lines. Beautiful, Jae.
ReplyDeleteHappy Sunday Jae
ReplyDeleteMy Sunday Post HERE
Much��love
I loved that you chose to end with hope.
ReplyDeleteTo have a hand to hold is really everything, isn't it? May we all have the hand we need.
ReplyDeleteA hand to hold. Thank you! I held both my mother's and my husband Andrew's as they died. Your poem makes me very glad of that. And I am glad for you of the positive ending to your poem.
ReplyDeleteSuch a tender, beautiful recount.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful. <3 <3
ReplyDelete