Watching

Watching through the vertical rectangular window
as they scurry around her ICU bed
flooded with that unnaturally white hospital light

Watching the clock, two ticks forward, one back
as I wait for my wife and kids to return
their five minute drive takes at least fifteen

Watching the doctor as he lays out, with compassion
our options, extended not to save a fading life
but to give dignity and grace to the lives who will go on

Watching the final assisted breath leave her chest
and everything becomes suddenly still
and I understand why stillness makes us all so afraid

Watching the parent's name tag fly across the ICU
my fury quickly tempered recalling where I am
I pick up the tag and apologize quietly, they all understand

Watching myself, phone in hand voice trembling
making calls that I never wanted to make
spreading a fleece of grief across the country

Watching my wife and me sleep, television on
to forestall the dreams that would come
she on the couch, I on the floor beneath her

Watching everyone watching me, I'm talking
white-knuckled grip on the podium
I tell them why “Why?” is an unnecessary question

Watching my wife decide, at the last moment
that we should be the ones who lower her
into that place where she will be until the end

Watching us, the week of years past
seeing the shadow that it has thrown over us
we grope in its darkness, but we still press on