In Memory... (12/9/2007)

any memories we had were dulled by the morphine I slid under your tongue
it wasn't the pillows 
or the light yelling into my skin that woke me
or even the liquid crystal mosquito flying in
out
and around my ears


it was you

rattling out of your skin 
stumbling over breathing tubes and catheters
hurdling your corpse and slamming into walls 
unable to find the light switch

- Gina - 

 It's been three years ago today since I woke up, went to check on my comatose father and found him dead.

Me, the one who he hadn't talked to in 20+ years;  me, the one who wasn't his favorite (I know, because he told the neighbor so... and they felt the need to share); me, who wasn't good enough to love, but was good enough to clean his puke from the bathroom floor after his night of prowling and before my day at school.

I stood in the doorway that morning...for who knows how long. My eyes darting back and forth between his chest and his half opened eyes. Waiting ... just in case.

Nothing happened.

"God DAMN IT!... don't you fucking move!" It's all I could think of to say as I walked closer to him.

 I guess I was going to check his pulse ... to REALLY REALLY make sure.  All I could think of was those TV shows where people walked up to what they thought was a dead body, and it moved.

"God DAMN IT!... don't you fucking move!"

 He didn't.

It was quick really. I got the phone call from him in October, Columbus Day.  Two months later he was gone.  It was enough time to tell me he was dying,  enough time to tell me I was the executor of his in-debt "estate", enough time to see the only grandchild he would ever know - a boy, finally he got a boy, enough time for me to remember how much he had once meant to me...But not enough time to ever say he loved me. The coma saved him from that nasty chore.

I'm not sure if I believe that people can still here you ... even if they are in a coma.... but I had to take the chance that they could.  I had to believe that he had to listen to what I had to say to him... whether or not he could respond.  "Ok Dad, here's the deal..." and that was all he allowed me to say.

His body that had been writhing for hours, stopped.

I gave him the morphine just like the hospice nurse had shown me.  I dipped the lollipop sponge in water and ran it across his dry and cracking lips.  I kissed him on the forehead and went to lay on the couch, to stand ready for the next dose.

I fell asleep and so did he.

Forever.