IVs and Oxygen Tubes

You told me not to worry.
It was just a visit to the doctors.
You smiled at my concern.
And said that you'd be fine.

A week later,
you lie on the hospital bed.
There's an IV in your arm,
and oxygen tube in your mouth.

I was lost for thought.
You said that you'd be fine,
but now, you're...
We said we'd be together forever.
...but now...

A frantic beeping emerges from the machines.
A team of doctors run in.
Your parents and I are ushered aside.
Then we watch the defibrillator come off the shelf.

They pumped your heart,
shocking you with hundreds of volts of electricity.
There was no response.
The doctor tried once more,
then he glanced at his watch.
"Time of death: 8:45 am" he said.

I wept in your mothers arms.
Your dad put the brave face on.
The doctors came out,
and said they did all they could.

I'm dressed in black,
a red rose in my hands.
I read your memorial speech,
tears welled in my eyes.
The church's attention is upon me.
I talked about the good times,
the bad, the funny, and the sad.
I wish I wasn't here.

We walked over to the cemetery.
The priest said his last words.
People walked up to your coffin,
and said their goodbyes.
It was finally my turn.
I gently placed the rose down,
kissed your coffin,
and whispered "Goodbye"