“I took a nap and wept for no reason”
~ Jim Harrison from Songs of Unreason
My sisters and I
sat at my father’s deathbed
he, though unconscious, raged–
we held a vigil through the night,
waiting for the dawn,
and light
to see him released,
the raging ceased.
I napped then
for days it seemed
dreaming
I heard his voice,
crying when
I realized
it wasn’t real,
but love
disguised.
This poem is for Day 13 of Jilly’s 28 Days of Unreason, using Jim Harrison’s poetry for inspiration. I guess this is an early Father’s Day poem.
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This is poignant. No words can describe a vigil by the death bed. I consider it a blessing-to be able to say goodbye. I, too, have had the honour for my dad.
Thank you very much, Vivian. Yes, you are right.
🙂
Very poignant. My dad dropped dead of a massive heart attack, but I got to the hospital for my mum. I left home as soon as she was admitted. She hung on until I got there. It’s hard.
Yes it is. Thank you, Jane.
🙂
Raw and wonderous. So incredibly real that your words break open and weep before me. Great strength in this poem!
Thank you very much, Jilly. It’s funny how some poems almost write themselves.
I hear an echo of “do not go gentle…”. It’s very tender.
Thank you, Sarah. Yes, I think of him with that–he fought Death.
Wow! That said so much in a very powerful way! Really incredible writing!
Thank you so much!
The clarity and simplicity of your unfolding vigil makes it all the more moving – and thus the last couplet packs a real punch of grief
Thanks so much, Laura.
Tough … but from the heart.
Thank you, Frank.
Such a difficult moment in our lives when we lose our parents. So well done!
Thank you so much!
I took a nap and woke up remembering the vigil by my brother’s death bed last month . . . and carrying his cremains from the funeral home to the church . . and then I cried.
Sorry again for your loss, Marian.
Such a memorable vigil
Yes. Thank you, Derrick.
So poignant. The stillness that followed… in the release, your resting and waking.
This brings feelings that I know are resolved, but still they stir within me. Thank you, Merril, for the reminder of their importance.
Thank you for that lovely comment, Ken. I hope things were stirred in a good way.
They were.
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The raging, the rest. All so familiar.
Yes. And unforgettable.