Eight Years Underground Can Really Kill Someone

by Liz   Nov 28, 2014


It's that time of year again.
The time of year when I
skip certain songs and
try to avoid looking
at the time.
But time is inevitable.

8:35 A.M. - You're in bed drinking your first coffee of the day with soggy crackers. A breakfast that became our favorite.

8:55 A.M. - You slept more than usual these days.

10:20 A.M. - You were craving mangoes. Even though you hated not doing things for yourself, I sliced them for you because I wasn't sure if you could.

10:40 A.M. - The frantic shouts of your sons ran throughout the house. And that...
That's when I saw you.
When I finally realized that cancer had become you. That cancer had blue-grey eyes, thin white hair and spotty, wrinkly skin. You were just its host, but it had imploded within you and was searching for a way out.

10:43 A.M. - "911. What's your emergency?"

"She's dying"

11:00 A.M. - All I remember when running out to the car was how the cold day seared the tears on my face.

11:30 A.M. - A nurse with overnight, smokey eyes, fidgeted with her Saint Mary's Hospital badge.
Her somber voice was a skipping record in my head...

"She won't make it through the day"

12:00 P.M. - She won't make it through the day.

1:00 P.M. - She won't make it through the day.

1:15 P.M. - Your hands were still warming my cold fingers and you were smiling. (Please, make it through.)

2:00 P.M. - She won't make it through the day.

3:00 P.M. - She won't make it through the day.

4:00 P.M. - Your breathing was slow and painful. My fingers were getting cold again. Was it selfish of me to beg you to make it through? Please...?

4:15 P.M. - She won't make it through the day.

4:30 P.M. - She won't make it.

4:40 P.M. - You didn't make it.

4:40 P.M. - I couldn't hear the incessant flat line beeping on the monitor.
I couldn't hear your daughter's ugly, horrifying cries or
my heart beat pushing my eardrums the wrong way.
All I could focus on was the clock. 4:40.
Why could I still hear it ticking?
Why was life still moving?

9:00 P.M. - I wrapped myself in the blanket that held you in the end and lay in your bed.
The smell of mangoes and your perfume were asphyxiating, but I couldn't stop breathing.

I haven't stopped breathing.

November 26, 2014
4:40 A.M. - I could never stop time from killing you, and in twelve hours I will lose you for the eighth time.

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Latest Comments

  • 7 years ago

    by Em

    Liz, all I can say is that this really moved me to tears because it seemed you remembered every little detail and I can feel the emotion seeping through.
    Death of a loved one is never easy even after many years.

    All the best, Em

  • 9 years ago

    by ghosts in bloom

    I have read this a few times over the last few days, and still can't really find the "right" words.

    This is a beautifully written piece that exemplifies the heaviness, confusion, and normalcy in death. It's perfectly raw and real, and that's why it's so striking. Thank you for sharing your truth, dear heart. Sending you love.

  • 9 years ago

    by PorcelainMoon

    Usually lose interest on these long writes but this one had me glued.

  • 9 years ago

    by Mayday

    Nearly an emotional wreck after reading this, I think that would be appropriate. This is so So Sad, I'm so sorry :( You really captured EvErYtHing, the impact this leaves the reader with is breath-taking. It's like you're actually there with you. I really really like this. Thank you for sharing, Poetess.

    5/5

  • 9 years ago

    by WW

    Very powerful. I love the use of time, the repetition, its deep and profound meaning. 5/5

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