Lilac Time

When I think
Of nursing homes
During the pandemic,
Which seemed to transform
Into ever more certain
Incubators of death,
Toward which we seemed
To resign ourselves,
Taking no measures
Except ceasing
That last mercy,
The last manifestation 
Of hope,
The act of visitation,
I think of my mother.

Six years ago today,
And as I write these words
I wonder what she was
Experiencing 
Even during these moments.
She was dying.

I was working
My last night shift 
At the second of three
Locations
For a company 
Best known 
For a rubber and leather boot,
A curious creation
Always in the middle
Of one thing or another.

And always,
I find myself 
In the middle
Of that day.

When my father and I 
Arrived for the first
Of our twice daily visits 
We found her breathing
Heavily,
Shallow,
Great sucking efforts,
Loud,
Discomfiting.

They told us
She was dying.

They told us
They didn’t know how long
It would take.

This was towards nine,
About five hours
From when I am 
Writing now,
Six years ago.

It was difficult.

It was hard to see her
Like this,
Hard to hear her
Like this.

And we made the decision 
Not to stay.

My boss
Before I left work
That day,
Had asked what I would do
When my mother died,
If I would want
Time off.

That very morning.

The first thing I did
Before it even happened,
Was to walk away.

I walked away
And I went to sleep.

I slept a few hours,
And then my father called.

It was around noon,
About half past.

It had happened.

And I wasn’t there.

I was sleeping.

Her breathing 
Had stopped 
Its unsettling posture.

I took
A picture
Of her body.

Not of her.

Of her body.

You can see
My hand
In it,
In the picture.

I buried my face
In her cold hand.

There was numbness
But there were other sensations.

The only thing we did
Before we left that morning
When she was still alive
That I can be proud of
Was to call the other siblings
And give them a chance
To say goodbye.

I said goodbye 
To a body.

At the funeral home,
Later,
I could barely stand
To look at it.

Not her,
It.

I had seen her,
In lilac time.

And now,
That is where she 
Will always exist.

For me,
However,
It is a kind
Of purgatory.

I will always
Ask myself
Why I didn’t stay.

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