I missed writing yesterday – it just slipped my mind – does that ever happen to you?
So today, there’ll be two posts! The first of which is in memory of my father. Papa was never an athlete. He was, nevertheless, a big fan. And he loved the Olympics. He was especially proud of the athletes from Auburn University where he taught, and most especially proud of those who had been his students, including Rowdy Gaines. So naturally, I am remembering Papa, his last months, in particular…
Six years since we heard the word,
Over five since you’ve been gone.
It took you fast,
It took you slow-
Ly. There was no pain
And then only
For the unpronouncably-named medications,
The couch in your bedroom
On three legs and a brick,
The place I supposedly slept,
And from which I listened to each gurgling breath,
Wondering, worrying, hoping, feeling
Guilty as hell.
That there were cousins,
Some of them not-even-really
Cousins, bringing bread pudding,
Sharing in your care,
Nursing you in ways I could not, would not.
Thankful that you’d splurged
On the electronically-bending bed,
Purchased for pleasure, not knowing at the time
The need around the bend.
In the end.
Laura Overstreet Biering, Copyright March, 2011