Sunday, March 13, 2005
Passing of a Generation
She lay in bed.
So thin and fragile, but still so regal.
Enthroned on all sides by the pillows on her bed, breathing - too quickly,
and then too slowly, as he watched impassively from his lonely vigil in the corner.
His dull eyes fixed, unmoving at some inner point in space,
his jaw firmly set, his body a study in stillness. Who can tell where that churning mind fled, perhaps the comfort of the past, or perhaps just drifting aimlessly on, flailing at the filmy, surrealistic shrouds of the moment.
The mother arrived and held him in her arms, unspeaking.
She shifted restlessly in her bed, perhaps seeking some small comfort in her dream world between worlds, before settling back down to rest.
Words had no place here; there was no need to speak, no need to tell them that she would not wake from this slumber into the twilight.
The father and I stood shoulder to shoulder, mutely watching the numbers on the screen.
He asked to see the scans for himself.
The moment passed.
So thin and fragile, but still so regal.
Enthroned on all sides by the pillows on her bed, breathing - too quickly,
and then too slowly, as he watched impassively from his lonely vigil in the corner.
His dull eyes fixed, unmoving at some inner point in space,
his jaw firmly set, his body a study in stillness. Who can tell where that churning mind fled, perhaps the comfort of the past, or perhaps just drifting aimlessly on, flailing at the filmy, surrealistic shrouds of the moment.
The mother arrived and held him in her arms, unspeaking.
She shifted restlessly in her bed, perhaps seeking some small comfort in her dream world between worlds, before settling back down to rest.
Words had no place here; there was no need to speak, no need to tell them that she would not wake from this slumber into the twilight.
The father and I stood shoulder to shoulder, mutely watching the numbers on the screen.
He asked to see the scans for himself.
The moment passed.
