Worried eyes were barely able to stay open
"It's me," you cry as I ask the usual door question.
Two men hold your limp body in standing position,
your face droops and spittle trickles down the left side.
"I need to just rest," your voice now a whisper.
All energy placed toward moving one foot forward.
My heart aches but my mind quickly recalls
the facts I memorized after inventory
of your stressful life and previous condition.
I never wanted to use them
all the while knowing one day I would.
"No!" I sternly say. "Take him back to the car." I demand.
You slur, "I'm fine." Calling me by the pet name you have for me.
Crying on the inside I remain firm. "No, you're sick."
I barely hear my mom ask what's wrong.
She doesn't ask questions, just quickly dresses,
thanks the men and drives you to the hospital.
With time to process the situation,
I walk around dazed; looking for items of clothing.
Twenty minutes pass before I'm fully dressed.
My mind overloaded and unable to really handle the stress.
Arrangements are made for the darlings still asleep
and thankfully oblivious to it all.
At the hospital you chat and request breakfast
for what you think is the day before it actually is.
The staff is overly concerned and rushed you for tests.
Alone in the room again my brain tries to take account
but fails and I perform instead, calling siblings
and alerting them to your condition.
As I finish a prayer, the doctor returns before you and mother.
"There is a hemmorage on the brain with massive bleeding.
We are not equipped for the treatment he needs
and we will have to fly him out," the doctor directly states.
Again I take it all in, my face emotionless,
even though the inside shatters. I spring into action,
the easier alternative to falling apart.
I call and text, wait and explain. Phone calls pour in.
I soothe tears and screams of others
all while refusing comfort myself.
After your arguments and language the nurses sedate you.
The staff, effective and comforting, prepare you for transport.
I drive my mom to the helicopter pad, her eyes filled with tears.
All the thoughts and emotions are there but for me refuse to break free.
Instead, I speed mom to the next hospital knowing you will arrive first.
The family now waits. Friends arrive to offer comfort.
The hours have turned to days and the days to weeks.
We visit and caress your hand, stroke your forhead.
We jump at every phone call and ride the waves
of news of your progress and recession.
I still think and do. The stress of it all beginning to show.
I perform to prevent the imminent breakdown.
I keep waiting for the moment, I will awake from it all.
cb
1/3/08
Father's Stroke
MLK Day 1/21/08
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