Every time I get my hot (or cold) medium cup of DD turbo coffee, I am reminded about Dad's hospitalizations last summer -- a week and a half in June and a week in August. Mom took the night shift, and I relieved her in the morning. To do so, I would stop by the drive thru to jolt up on my turbo DD, then drive to Bayonne Hospital's parking deck and make my way to Dad's room. I would reassure Mom that she could take a break & sleep at home until the evening when we would switch off once again.
My turbo DD and Dad's DD
TURBO IN HAND
i cross the light
walk through the automatic doors
past he guard's station
my feet skate reluctantly
along the too familiar marble floors.
FATE IN GOD'S HANDS
issues a DD Alert
Dying with Dignity rings in Dad's ears
like a solemn bell groaning
in a century-old church.
DAD'S HAND IN MOM'S
his grip tightens with every knowing
and loosens with each non-living moment
as the clock's hand streteches toward . . .
DD.
