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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Family · #534344
Sitting at my father's bedside...

I sit quietly
holding your hand
watching the rise and fall of your chest
as you breathe four deep breaths -
followed by stillness
One. Two.
I hold my breath
Three. Four.
I hold my breath with you
and then a gasp
finally breaks the silence
followed by a deep breath.

Another bedside vigil
as one day bleeds into the next
and I lose all sense of time
and reason.

So far
there is no dignity to be found
in this dying business -
for you
for any of us -

we pray for peace,
for a quiet end -
and yet each morning
we find you
still grasping
onto life.

And so
for another day
I sit quietly
holding your hand
because there is no place else
that I can be
and nothing else
that I can do.

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/534344-Breathing-