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Array
(
[sid] => 154582
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Boxes
[time] => 2009-10-30 18:35:04
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => My Dad died this morning in a place he did not want to be. His legacy, one 2 x 5 closet full of well worn shirts, some sweat pants, pajama bottoms and a pair of shoes. The fruits from 85 years of pain and toil upon this Earth. Some more things in the second drawer... We pack them in boxes , wondering what to do with them. Seems profoundly sad to me. Last night I talked with him, while he still knew who I was. I spoke of the times we used to go fishing at the lake and he smiled. We talked about the Browns.. .about the weather... small talk we had made a thousand times before. I told him I loved him. He said he loved me too. You could see the fear in his eyes. A half hour or so later he was incoherently crying out " Mom...Mom...Please help me Mom..." I patted his arm and it calmed him for a while. This is the man who was afraid of nothing... this echo of my Father I sat beside his bed through the darkness watching his face turn pale... listening as his breaths became more labored ... until morning holding his hand one last gasp for air and he was gone The finality of it boggles the mind. and now.... we pack up all that is left into boxes. [comments] => 5 [counter] => 352 [topic] => 39 [informant] => Rakerman1999 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 15 [ratings] => 3 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Grief )
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