I count all the Tuesdays, Thursdays
and Saturdays from January to mid-July,
all those days in Florida
when you drove an hour
to dialysis and sat there for hours
as the machines removed toxins
and water from your blood,
then drove an hour home.
I multiply that number times
the number of miles and arrive
at a number that means devotion.
Means grit. A number that means
I will live for you as long as I am able.
Remember, Dad, how no matter
how early you had to rise,
no matter how difficult the drive,
no matter how inefficient the process,
you did it. And every time
you thanked the people
who were keeping you alive.
At the end, when you couldn’t stand,
couldn’t sit, couldn’t lift your own arm,
they took you to dialysis on a stretcher.
When they’d move you,
you’d moan in pain, howl, even,
as they twisted your body
in ways it no longer could twist,
and then, with deep humility,
you’d thank the nurses.
Did you ever see them cry, Dad?
I did. I saw them walk out of the room
into the hall and weep,
so grateful to be thanked
for doing the work that hurts.
Two thousand nine hundred ninety miles.
That was the number for six months.
A number that means life is hard and I want it.
A number that says my body is stopping,
but my love grows.
A number that means, Yes, I will meet you, death.
Butnot yet. Not yet.
*
PS–I want to honor that my mom drove my dad many of these times, and many other times in other cities–and she, in such courageous, humble ways, was devoted to dad’s health and healing.
This is how Robert Hayden closes, Those Winter Sundays,
“What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?”
Caramba, that Chuck Wahtola.
It’s even more clear how you’ve become such a world-changing source of love, Rosemerry—you had him for your dad.
Such love, amiga.
I am so grateful to be my father’s daughter–and also so grateful that at least later in life I knew something of love’s austere and lonely offices and how he manifested that.
What a testament to specific love — your mother’s, your father’s, the nurses — that it amplifies the love I’ve witnessed. Thank you.
oh Laura, so much love. So much love.
Such a tender honouring of both your parents, the devotion, the love, the wanting life as the body slows – this is love in action. xoxox
thank you, Janice, love in action indeed. calculating those numbers was soooo powerful
A multi-level love story – WOW: the strength of both your parents. Strength stemming from love, and spreading that love to anyone nearby.
strength stemming from love–so true. i am so grateful for the legacy of my parents