His Room
Posted: April 14th, 2016, 12:39 pm
His Room
by Edmund Siejka
During that long summer
The door to Dad’s room was never closed
Except at night
When he drifted
Into semi consciousness.
Wasn’t it only yesterday
He was in the kitchen
Reading the morning paper
Coffee by his side
Our conversation brief
“Have a good day” or
“Be careful driving
There’s too many crazies out there.”
Last month
A social worker called
Informing us that Dad’s health insurance was not “comprehensive.”
Meaning that the hospital bills would not be covered
I repeated that word ” comprehensive” to myself several times
Digesting its meaning
Comparing it to Dad
Who worked all his life
Raised a family
Lead a righteous life
And I wondered
Which part of Dad’s life was not comprehensive?
We debated whether he should go to hospice
Or brought home.
We brought Dad home.
His bedroom turned around
We took turns caring for him
My sister’s morning ritual was to
Comb his hair
Fluff pillows
Open windows
And a dutiful Granddaughter would place the morning newspaper
By her Grandpa’s side.
One early Saturday morning
We heard a deep gurgling sound
Running upstairs
We witnessed
His last moments
Eyes opened
Lips pressed together
He seemed to smile
And then he was gone.
Drawing the blanket to his chest
Someone retrieved the unread newspaper
As we quietly withdrew downstairs
To talk among ourselves.
by Edmund Siejka
During that long summer
The door to Dad’s room was never closed
Except at night
When he drifted
Into semi consciousness.
Wasn’t it only yesterday
He was in the kitchen
Reading the morning paper
Coffee by his side
Our conversation brief
“Have a good day” or
“Be careful driving
There’s too many crazies out there.”
Last month
A social worker called
Informing us that Dad’s health insurance was not “comprehensive.”
Meaning that the hospital bills would not be covered
I repeated that word ” comprehensive” to myself several times
Digesting its meaning
Comparing it to Dad
Who worked all his life
Raised a family
Lead a righteous life
And I wondered
Which part of Dad’s life was not comprehensive?
We debated whether he should go to hospice
Or brought home.
We brought Dad home.
His bedroom turned around
We took turns caring for him
My sister’s morning ritual was to
Comb his hair
Fluff pillows
Open windows
And a dutiful Granddaughter would place the morning newspaper
By her Grandpa’s side.
One early Saturday morning
We heard a deep gurgling sound
Running upstairs
We witnessed
His last moments
Eyes opened
Lips pressed together
He seemed to smile
And then he was gone.
Drawing the blanket to his chest
Someone retrieved the unread newspaper
As we quietly withdrew downstairs
To talk among ourselves.