Hospice

This is her third admission,
her final one she knows –
but too long-suffering,
too pleasant to make a fuss about it.
Accepting.
At peace.

I sit and hold her hand,
feeling privileged
to be allowed inside
the envelop of her personhood,
inside the envelop of her pain
and disappointments.

I don’t know her
except within this terminal environment.
But we both know,
and talk of it,
that this disease is not
the definition of her life.

But of her hopes, hobbies,
accomplishments and regrets
I know nothing,
until she reveals them –
jewel by jewel,
tear by tear,
smile by smile
as we talk
in her waning lucid moments.

Younger than I
by over a decade,
it hurts
to watch her ebb away,
to diminish.
To know that the cancer
eats away at her personality
moment by moment,
that she will not relate
tomorrow as she does today.

Someone there was
she loved once,
but he shot-through
out of selfishness and fear.
Fool to be pitied,
and forgiven –
He should be here
holding her hand,
and not a stranger.
He should be here
experiencing
the infinitude of loss.

But this man,
this stranger
is what she has –
it will have to be enough
for her dying.

I slip silently into her room
while she sleeps,
stand and pray, watching.
I know that death
shall have no dominion –
for our dying
is not the end of life,
only the transition.
She knows that too,
but not in all faith’s confidence,
and that saddens me,
yet I may not transgress
her dwindling awareness.

I stand aside
as her daughters-in-law
comfort her,
speak to her,
caress her.
Sons wait –
solid,
supportive,
serious –
and sensitive
to every nuisance
of her broken breathing.

I feel privileged
to be allowed inside
the envelop
of her family dynamic,
inside the envelop
of her leave-taking.

And we six agree
that her enduring relationships
are the real definition of her life –
how often have I measured
a patient’s character
by the net of love
that family and friends weave
around them.

This is a person
I regret not having known
in the bloom of their life.
How deep the humbling
then,
when they return
the next day and give their
‘Thank you’
for my being there with her.

What have I done?
I only sat and held her hand,
and prayed.
And she?
She added immeasurably
to me.



by James Gagiikwe © 2007