[image from flickr.com]
Her eyes well up.
"The doctor says
there will be
no improvement.
His systems
are failing."
He opens his eyes
at noon
and asks me
"where have I been
this whole damned day?"
I say,
"you've been
snoozing."
He is practicing
for a very long sleep.
But Faiza
cannot possibly
prepare
for this parting.
It is too big.
All of her will
has been focussed
on keeping him alive,
and now it's
not working.
I tell her,
"We'll take it
one day at a time.
Bill is happy
at home, you love
and care for him
so well.
We'll do all
that we can
for as long
as we can,
while he is here."
I am grateful
God is taking
Bill first.
He would have
been lost
without Faiza.
Meanwhile
she is facing
losing the man
who is
the centre
of her world,
her reason for being.
A gaping void
yawns
just behind
his right shoulder,
ready to
swallow him up,
leaving behind only
his empty brown chair.
He looks up at me
helplessly.
"I'm cold, Sherry.
Always so cold."
I take him
a fuzzy blanket.
Everything can
be made better,
this particular moment,
with a fuzzy blanket.
He says,
"Thanks, sweetie.
I always love
to see you."
"I always love
to see you, too, Bill."
And I wonder
if I will
still see
this sweet, sweet man,
when I come back
next week.
