A free-verse poem written after the death of my father. |
October 16, 2015 weather-wise was a spectacularly beautiful day all across the South as we sped east from Shreveport, Louisiana to Peachtree City, Georgia. Yet the day was dark and foreboding. The day was warm with bright, sunny blue skies that sparkled. However, worry and gloom rode as unwelcomed passengers in the car with my wife and me, for we had received that dreaded phone call delivering the news that my 97-years-old father now lay dying. The states and the hours crawled pass until ten and a half hours later we rushed into my father’s nursing home to join my sister and brother-in-law in the death watch for my dad’s last breath. Friday, October 16, 2015 was one of those dreaded, despicable days in one’s life that will remain forever etched in my memory. On that date near midnight began our long days of watching the rise and fall of my father’s chest as he struggled to take another breath. The doctor said Pop might live for only a few hours more or perhaps might survive another two weeks. We spoke into Pop’s ear reassuring words that we hoped reached into his conscious mind far enough to be understood, words telling him we were there at his side and that he was much loved. We kept an around-the-clock vigil, watching and waiting day after long day. Pop’s breathing was at times peaceful and regular, with intervals of labored, irregular breaths where he struggled. Death and my father fought a long and mighty battle. Pop must have looked Death squarely in the face, spat in his eye, and kicked him in the gonads on several occasions when Death closed in for the kill before Pop was ready to submit. Death swung his scythe and claimed Pop at 5:05 PM on Sunday, October 25th in the year 2015 at 97 years, nine months of age. You were a good man, Pop, known for your kindness, honesty, and great sense of humor. You shall be forever loved and missed by all who were fortunate enough to have known you. Harry Edward Gilleland, Sr January 29, 1918 - October 25, 2015 |