The Hospital

Moving as quickly as her pain would allow,
Mom, supported by me,
Passed through the rain
Into the Emergency waiting room,

This Sunday the room was quiet.
Only two older couples, and a small girl
Accompanied by her father,
Sat waiting to be called.

Since it was a heart related problem
Mom was moved, upon the doctor’s order,
To a semi private hospital room.
The other bed was empty.

Old and in deteriorating health,
Mom looked resigned and quiet.
Too quiet I thought.
Perhaps she was turning in.

I spoke to her of family,
(Her contemporaries were gone.)
No friends remained, just children and grandchildren.
Leading lives that did not include her.

Sitting on her bed, holding her hand,
Seeing the too bright expression,
Knowing at that moment, she was not with me,
I sought desperately, for contact.

I knew I would go back to my life,
Our hands would separate, I would leave,
Returning tomorrow to confirm
It was she, not me, that needed to stay.

How long before she becomes a reference point,
Not quite human, in a state of storage,
Allowing keepers to record
Her descent into herself?

I am not brave,
If I were, the tragedy
Would not be allowed to become farce.
We know the final scene.