the nightmare returned last night. I lay awake in the night, hearing that woman doctor saying "This is end stage" and something about decisions. don't remember the exact words, but we both knew what she meant.
I didn't want you to die in the city; I so badly hoped we could bring you back out here; to the hospice here. But that didn't make the list and we had to make do with looking down on the trees. Not that you were able to look at anything.
In the long hours of the night, hearing those words echoing, I remember sitting beside you holding your hand. I hope you remember that, if you remember anything of here. I just held your hand.
I told you after the other hospitalization that I wouldn't leave you downtown again, and I didn't.
You left me.
Not by choice, I know
There was no choice that would have allowed us to stay together.
"This is end stage"
The words echo and echo again, and I am holding your warm firm hand, unbelieving of what is happening, but knowing it to be too real, too.
How can something be real and unreal together at the same time.
I held your hand.
And I count myself fortunate that I had that option.
Not everyone gets to be there or do that.
"End Stage"
"End Stage"
"End Stage"
I wish the wirds would go away; echoes should fade into oblivion. Isn't that what they are supposed to do?
.