1 minute read
The Care of Comfort
from Ascensus VIII
Poetry Shobana L. Ramasamy
It’s 6:30am Your breathing is agonal And right now, it is Agony. You are hunched over in bed Gripping, Clutching, Heaving I am at bedside, Uncertain, calling. Holding your hand.
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Here I am to ask about your pain And there you are Eyes wide, almost proptotic As though you see what comes next And you are afraid.
“Before cancer, she was the glue of the family.” Mother for a child in need, Lawyer contending for immigrant families, Caretaker to a brother debilitated by disease.
Your family has made your comfort the priority. Now in a room of your own, A room filled with people from over five decades of brilliant life, You continue to hold them together. A most resilient glue.
It’s 6:30am. I walk in, Apprehensive. But what I see now is you At peace. Comfortable, Resting, Relieved. As though you are Dreaming something remarkable Of the family that will soon surround you Of all that you overcame In one lifetime.
Down the hall, I see the rush of white coats Hastening To someone crashing nearby To shake and compress them Out of their own serene dream.
