Moments Before Death

My father died from smoking on July 19th, 1995. This was the most difficult poem I've ever written. I cried through most of it. But it was an incredibly cathartic experience. It felt good, not just to get my feelings OUT, but to do it in what I think became a pretty good poem. That was important....it was my first major poem about losing my wonderful Daddy, who INHALED books....so it had to be good. I'm more grateful than I could ever say to Lawrence Johnson for helping me revise this poem to make it turn out the way it did.

I love you Daddy. - Amy

Moments Before Death

Waiting outside his hospital room, I listen
as the nurses coach him
to cough and clear his lungs of fluid.
“Good job, sweetie” they chime like a tune,
as he complains
that it hurts like hell.

A team of green gowns wheeled him down
to an unknown room, informed us the tube
would help him breathe better.
I kissed his head and reassured him
he would be just fine,
not realizing I was saying goodbye…
the only goodbye I would be given to say
face to face.

Praying and pleading
with God, I held on
to Aunty and Mom in the waiting room.
I didn’t care
what His will was anymore,
I wanted to will Him
to let me hold onto my Daddy.

In those moments, in the days
and weeks before he died,
I begged him, “Please!
Stop smoking!” as if I could
undo all the damage the tobacco
had done since he was a child.

We talked about Heaven,
he said he guessed he believed.
I informed him confidently, that I KNEW
we would be reunited,
not sure which one of us
I wanted to convince more.

I sat beside his bed, reading The Tao of Pooh.
That small book about a little bear
instructed me that I could simply be,
and accept things as they are.
A strange sensation of cold dread,
and warm peace came over me.

My father’s physical therapist came
the day after he died. His office
forgot to tell him
Daddy was dead.