the house is still
not silent
rhythmic breaths, dreaming sounds of chasing rabbits never to be caught…
rustling quilts and bodies rearranging in the night
lingering son coughs, calls out..a quiet moan. i leave the warm cocoon of blankets and silently cross the hall
i am tired. years of tired. yet i love this son, who needs me more now than he did even as a newborn. people love babies, full of hope and promise. people pity the brain injured. invisible, voiceless, they linger unwanted, and valueless to some. unfathomable. he needs me more than ever before, and i am sinking under the weight of that truth
i make him comfortable, whispering words familiar, singing songs he loves. loved. tenses are useless most days. almost mechanically my hands follow the routine…feeding tube, breathing treatment, drain the bedside urine bag, check his breathing and oxygen levels..more whispers, comforting, a song…kisses
i make sure the camera is ok, adjust pillows and covers…and silently slip across the hall and into my cocoon
rhythmic breaths, dreaming sounds of chasing rabbits never to be caught…
rustling quilts and bodies rearranging in the night..i clutch the monitor and wait
©2017
lingering son 