until the last goodbye
i remember the first time my
father had to use a wheelchair.
the look of defeat,
absolute.
he took pride w/ his
independence, to do things for himself.
for a few months, maybe a
year, he hustled around his house
in that wheelchair.
scarring walls and door
jambs.
when movement became more
difficult,
more of a challenge,
we knew the end drew
near.
w/o independence,
however small or
fleeting,
the soul gives up.
my father gave up.
while he never said it
outright,
at least not in front of
mother or my sister,
i knew.
when he got cancer the third
time,
and the last results were not
so great,
we all knew.
when he went into
hospice,
when COVID hit,
even he knew.
on his last day he woke up,
had a small breakfast,
flirted with a nurse and went
back for a final nap.
a silence fell into my
world
as if there was nothing left
to hear,
no dirty jokes left to
share.
Jack
Henry
jack henry is a writer based in the deserts of SE
California. Recent success includes: Ariel Chart, Pure Slush, Raven Cage,
Better than Starbuck's and elsewhere. in 2021 PUNK HOSTAGE PRESS released, driving
w/crazy, available now at smile.amazon.com.
Moving!
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