Coming Home

When they wheeled the stretcher through the front door

Watching, we stood around the room, wordless

Because

You were already gone

Even while we pretended to believe you would awaken

We caressed your shoulder and said spiritless “hang-in-theres“

Yet

You were already gone

Still your body responded with urgency to the small bits of food.

We fed you dabs of oatmeal and swabbed your lips with tiny sponges

Though

You were already gone

When she and I were left, sitting on the edges of dining room chairs

The others, slumped shoulders, sandbagged feet, departed to await the news

Fearing

You were already gone

As she touched the ring she placed on your finger 63 years ago

She whispered to herself “I’m afraid I’m losing you.”

But

You were already gone

Before she called out your name in the night,

Together we held our breath waiting for you to inhale

Knowing

You were already gone.

Naida Lavon

July, 2010

About my Uncle, Dick Miller