breathing

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

the process of losing someone

Panic. Pain. ‘911, what’s your emergency?’ Distant sirens. ‘They’re here, let them in.’ Sirens much closer now. Louder. Nothing else can be heard. ‘Madam, can you hear me? Just relax.’ With the sirens now. Bump. Bump. Diagnoses. Weary looks, shattered hopes.

‘We recommend moving her in here. It’s for the best.’ HeartAttacks. Heartbreaks. ‘You can collect some of her stuff, make her more comfortable here. Not too much stuff though.’ ‘Breathe in, breathe out. Count with me, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5… Another deep breath for me.’ Breast cancer. Heart failure. ‘It’s okay, it’ll get better.’ ‘Be mindful of how they’re feeling.’ Keep breathing. Broken bones. Slowing down, speeding up hearts.

‘She has a couple months left, make the best of it.’ Pounding thoughts, reverberating doubts. In, out. ‘Smile for the camera.’ ‘Where do you want us to put these flowers?’ Strokes. Pneumonia. ‘Did you hear about what happened on the news?’ Heavy hearts. Hunched shoulders. ‘She’s asleep, come back later.’ Beep. Beep. Beep. ‘Did you hear? They just got married!’ Beep. Beep. ‘Can we take her for a walk?’ Heavy lidded eyes. Even heavier limbs. ‘She needs to keep relaxing.’ Thump. Thump. ‘But she’s always relaxing.’ Alzheimer’s. Dementia. ‘Because she needs to be.’ Beep.

‘We left the rest of the packing up to you.’ Darker clothes. Darker looks. ‘Come on kids, take a picture with her. Be careful climbing onto the bed!’ Click! Flash.

Red rimmed eyes. Solemn faces. Choked off crying. ‘Here’s some boxes for the rest of her stuff. No rush though.’ Memories. Pictures. Flowers. Balloons long deflated. Stuffed animals sitting on the bedside table. Cards upon cards stacked on top of each other. Love you! Get Well Soon! Sterilized room void of it’s past resident. Boxes kept in the living room. It’s still too soon. More cards. We’re Sorry For Your Loss! Sending All Our Prayers! Balloons too, the same phrases. Food, lots of food. ‘So you don’t have to worry about it!’ Forced smiles. Plastic pleasantries. ‘When was the time we last spoke?’ ‘We should get together more often.’ ‘When you’re feeling up to it, of course.’

Knock. Knock. ‘We know it’s hard, but…’ ‘We know it’s rough, and it sucks but… Could you do this?’ ‘We understand, but you’ve had enough time.’ ‘Get over it.’ ‘Move on already.’ ‘It’s been [any amount of time]. It’s time to move on.’


Submitted: May 29, 2021

© Copyright 2021 minorinconvenience. All rights reserved.

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Poem / Poetry