Departure

He departed at the last port,
Leaving you to travel home alone;
You looked back to bid a dearest farewell
To the man you'd promised your life.

Maybe you felt too much, because
When you faced the bow again,
You were not the same.

The wind must have carried away your voice.
The boat must have made you unsteady on your feet.
The cold must have made your face appear numb
And your hands to start to shake.

Saying goodbye is never easy,
But, perhaps, traveling on is harder still,
And looking back can change you
Until you do not recognize yourself.

You've said you want to join him,
Sometimes, but I don't want that.
Nor are you sure, you admit.

Still, I can hardly blame you
For wanting to reunite with him,
For wanting to be whole again,
For wanting to depart.

A few important background notes:
My Mom and Dad did a lot of traveling with my sister and I as we grew up, and once Dad retired, the two did a lot of traveling alone together. During one fateful trip, my dad developed a brain aneurysm and died in the nearest hospital, away from home. After that day, my mom's Parkinson's symptoms began developing. At first, her hands shook, and she would tell me it was just her nerves or merely hunger. Then one day she was diagnosed, and I felt foolish for not realizing the truth sooner. Since then, she has periodically expressed the wish to be euthanized, but, thankfully, she has not committed to such a decision. I told her I loved her and wanted her to be happy, but I would find it hard to grant such a wish, and I wanted her to be sure beyond a doubt if ever I was to take her request seriously--yet I didn't ignore or discount her feelings. I also told her the story of the quadriplegic Ramon Sampedro, whose story is told in the Spanish film, Mar Adentro, who proclaimed on the day of his death that every day for 29 years he had wanted to die, and not a single morning did he wake wanting to live again.