poem

 Died in Her SleepThe old lady seemed surprisingly stable the next morningGiven her age, the physiologic insult And what I had to do to her. She smiled wanly and reachedOut a soft alabaster hand Not to reassure me so muchAs making sure I was realThat her rapidly spiraling demiseWhat not just a dreamI saw: it ’s not your fault, you did the best you couldIn her eyes but probably Her eyes were just being nice Then she closed them and drifted off into A dream where I was an old man, on my deathbedSurrounded by everyone I loved and those who loved me (A Venn diagram approximating a near perfect circle, I hope)And some were telling old storiesWhile others were saying goodbyeA few leaned in closeAnd whispered things onlyThe two of us could ever know Things got fuzzier and fuzzierAnd then quiet and more far away And then there was a soft blurred lightness Suffusing through the named and I was floating in the midstOf a bright white cloudShining with all the darkness I had once stumbled through And I was surrounded by a deep silence that had been Hiding in the cacophony of this life all along Soon I was the cloud itself, then myself again,A brief flicker of recognition just before I lost all the words to describe it Only the cloud could say anything elseIt gathered strength and grew darkThen it rained down hard upon the land For many weeks, all day and all night Until one morning the sun bu...
Source: Buckeye Surgeon - Category: Surgery Authors: Source Type: blogs