On Admitting My Mother to the Nursing Home
Barry W. North
Though I never left your side in that tiny apartment,
you called out my name,
over and over again, night and day, for weeks on end,
until, finally, clinging to a string of sanity,
I broke my vow
and brought you to that godforsaken place.
I watched them put you to bed,
pull up the blankets,
tuck that little toy dog inside your arm.
They took you as they found you — thought nothing of it:
a little girl,
helpless and terrified,
needing the services they could provide,
brought there by a man they’d seen before,
who’d lost his grip but could not let go.
Now, as I pull your wheelchair closer
to hold your hand,
I try, in vain, to recall the last time we spoke;
to remember how many seasons have passed
since I first began watching you,
like a tree in winter,
drop your leaves.
When, I wonder, did I finally quit checking you for signs of spring?
I wish I had some way to tell you
what is happening here, now.
How God’s mercy is falling upon us,
softly filling the silence between us,
bringing beauty to this barren scene.
But there are no words here,
just two hands touching inside a soundless drift.
First published in Edgz
Barry W. North
Though I never left your side in that tiny apartment,
you called out my name,
over and over again, night and day, for weeks on end,
until, finally, clinging to a string of sanity,
I broke my vow
and brought you to that godforsaken place.
I watched them put you to bed,
pull up the blankets,
tuck that little toy dog inside your arm.
They took you as they found you — thought nothing of it:
a little girl,
helpless and terrified,
needing the services they could provide,
brought there by a man they’d seen before,
who’d lost his grip but could not let go.
Now, as I pull your wheelchair closer
to hold your hand,
I try, in vain, to recall the last time we spoke;
to remember how many seasons have passed
since I first began watching you,
like a tree in winter,
drop your leaves.
When, I wonder, did I finally quit checking you for signs of spring?
I wish I had some way to tell you
what is happening here, now.
How God’s mercy is falling upon us,
softly filling the silence between us,
bringing beauty to this barren scene.
But there are no words here,
just two hands touching inside a soundless drift.
First published in Edgz