Lecture on Loss
Maybe
I missed it hiding under his
folds
of skin. Or perhaps the phlegm-ish
chuckle
in his throat rebuffed my anguish
and
the ever present stench of his
death.
But when the pale fluorescent lights
illuminated
the bruised colored veins underneath
his
white paper thin membranes and the lungs beneath
his
chest heaved and spat dark mucus reflected in the light,
I
had to recognize that mortal pain.
He
was no longer my grandfather,
as
if never in human history was anyone a grandfather.
He
was just pain; ominous and unknowable pain.
Crusty,
lopsided lips gaped open. My own
freckled
face wet with the brackish tears of loss.
Because
it was only then that I realized, loss
can
be described as nothing more than one’s own
recognition
that there is no love when facing the end of life.
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