this poem is autobiographical of sorts. It was i who sat with Melanie several months as she suffered through H1N1 and acute ARDS. Then it was my father, whom I sat with as he had the massive stroke and died a month later. It was my son Jordon, whom we sat with a collapsed lung. It was my mother, who we sit with now from breaking her leg on the fourth of July. She is at the nursing home in rehab. Then it was I in 09, having the neuro cardio syncope episode, needing a pace maker for a blocked artery after a stent. Since 09, much sitting.
Who will sit beside the bed of the dying
Hold the hand that once held you close
Search the closet for the burial clothes
See the smiling photo and not stop crying.
Then who will sit beside the bed of a wife
Too young to die and leave her children
On a ventilator with kidney failure setting in
The doctors beyond all they know to save her life.
Who will sit with the granny in the nursing home
When late in the night she cries in the hall
Ignored as senile after repeated calls
Spending long, lonesome days all alone.
Who sits with the teen in the addiction
Screaming for help so softly
Ignored by all so completely
Engrossed in the videos fiction.
Who will sit with the young newlyweds
Struggling just to feed their child
No one seeing the need so loud
Clinging to their abundance instead.
And who sat as I lay upon the table
The athlete trying to run the race
A heart in need of a helping pace
Wanting so fast to run, but unable.
And who will sit when your race has run
When down the laurel you lay
Miles to run before that day you say?
Look again, quickly your finish line comes.
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