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Our Last Night
Our Last Night
Through that last
long dark night, standing
by Travis’ hospital cribside, smoothing
his cooling tender brow, my weary eyes gazed
in horror at a vision flaunting itself above his little curly
head - beyond his half-closed, tired brown lovely long-lashed eyes,
beyond his dwindling shallow breaths. The cruel spectre of death loomed
appalling and hideous, leering at me through the windows of my
comprehension, as I slowly came to understand, at last, the
precise meaning of finality, futility, of this annihilating
impotency. Trapped in a kind of unalterable suicide
impossible to avoid - I found myself speeding
headlong into a brick wall, as swiftly
as a runaway train, only instead of
my own death careening
toward me, it was my
son’s. His big
death. My
small one. My small
one so immense it swallowed
up my very soul - my breath, my
joy; my small one that
was shriveling me,
shrinking me
small
(C) 2000 Rosemary J. Gwaltney
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