Category: Death & Loss

When the Heart Stops.

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A cardiac arrest. A resuscitation made. A life recovered.
One patient tells me his experience.
This is his story.

•

Death.
Amid the chaos enclosing,
beseeched by an ambiance of ages to come,
I hear the seraph’s dulcet calls.
Immured by words 
divine and bittersweet,
they sculpt the frigid air,
and I am comforted.
As flesh is pierced, poisons forced,
I am held in tender embrace–
its whispers an oasis to the fears
that boil within my breast.

A skyward calling, its promised hope
glistens the starlight above me.
Memories, regret, longings and dreams–
a cycle ripened to revolve anew
cascades within my being.
I then behold a fleeting sight–
a son, wife, a father, my life–
their love commanding,
gazes imploring.

Therefore
with a strength untold
I fight
until with the sun
I am ushered
out of the grasp
of the ebbing eve.

I open my eyes.

 

•      •      •

◊ The Cardiac Arrest – A Physician’s Perspective ◊

•      •      •

 

The Arrest.

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A code called.
She races
as the seas part
for her crossing.
Reposed before her–
rhythm without pulse,
fluid without flow,
substance without life–
is you.

Invaded
as lines in your thigh
penetrate a pump paralyzed,
as tube between ashen lips
thrusts into stagnant air.
Poison pushed into a heart
quivering, she watches as
your chest rises
with the force
of each counterfeit breath.

The symphony begins.

Thump
Shock delivered.
Strike through the breast.
Voltage down your limbs.
Buoyant, jerking,
Each retort
a life feigned by lightening.

Crunch
Bones crush.
The carol of ribs,
a surrender to the fury
of each compression,
quickens with her pounding heart.
Each chord
a dissonant harmony.

Glazed are your eyes
as they pulsate
with the cadence of their dance.
She looks at you.
Pleads for you to return.
Prays to the god she plays.
But your eyes plead for something more.

You leave her.

The story ends.

And the orchestra leaves.

•      •      •

◊ The Cardiac Arrest From a Patient’s Perspective ◊

•      •      •

The arrest

The Sleep.

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Rivulets of sorrow meandering
down tear-stained skin.
“Keep her comfortable
until it’s time.”   
Simple words-
echoes
of eternal reminder within.
You rise.

Guiding her
through the threshold
into the chill,
shudders
of realization emerge.
You survey
the molting trees,
their arid leaves
embellishing her hair
like fragments of
woven rhinestones.
As if they weep for her.
As if even the ambiances
of ages past are beseeching
her not to leave.

Soon arrives the Foehn,
holding you within
its warm embrace.
Its breaths,
whispering lines of truth,
sculpt a bittersweet tune
as they herald
the evening’s arrival.
You understand.

Cloaked
by lyrics of singing ivy,
her expression calms,
your fears dissolve.
Consoled by a draft possessive,
you cradle her
through the darkness
and follow her
toward the seraph’s call
into the fold of
midnight slumber.

•

A New Day

A New Day.

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What do we do, come that day,
when walk we must through vacant streets,
when frore and tremulous become the nights,
and windowpanes with autumn’s dew weep?

What do we do, come that day,
when summertide flees from bitter air’s chase,
when even the trees forsake their leaves,
And swallows depart to a fitter place?

For that day has come,

and now we weep,

as the earth reclaims another,

their souls now sleep.

But come winter’s call new snow will fall,
then autumn’s death will be entombed.
And as morning rays gleam through curtain seams,
New seedlings in our hearts will bloom.

Then we will know that a new day has come. 

•

This Poem is Dedicated to the Memory of Rhonda Elkins and her daughter, Kaitlyn.

Sky

To Rhonda.

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Almost a year ago, I wrote something for your daughter.

 •

I never thought at that time that soon I would be writing similar lines for you.

So as I try to find ways to make sense of the pain of finding out that you left us, just as Kaitlyn had left us, I can only come out with these words…

…That through your daughter’s passing,
you had come into our lives.

Through your pain,
the world was moved.

Through your words,
 eyes were opened.

Through your tears,
hearts were touched, lives changed.

And through your perseverance,
Kaitlyn lived on.

But even as you worked unceasingly,
Your soul continued to break, your heart grieved.

And now you are again with your daughter, your bright shining star.

Goodbye, Rhonda. Now you can finally rest.

•

◊ A Poem Dedicated to the Memory of Rhonda ◊

Sky

 Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower, we will find… rather… strength in what remains behind…

•      •      •

.For those who may not have known Rhonda, here are the links to her writing.

My Bright Shining Star: A Mother’s True Story of Brilliance, Love, and Suicide

My Bright Shining Star, a blog

To Say Goodbye.

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Moisture burning her vision.
In the dark, it hides her eyes.
Teardrops.
Clinging onto her, one falls onto her lap
and stains her skirt.
She mourns.

Comfort her.
Tell her it will be okay.
That the shadow of a moment
may not stretch into tomorrow’s light.
That the ocean,
at its blackest
is still a reflection of the sky,
and she will not drown.

But the tide has come to take you home.
To her smile and her strength
she bids farewell.
Her heart, a piece borrowed and now returned,
departs with you.
She says goodbye.

phoebe-chi-grandpa

 

The Tragedy Behind a Poem.

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We did it. We took it out.

Slowly, the oxygen saturation dropped.
Gradually, the alarms sounded.
Insisting. Imploring us to do something.
We turned them off.
Made him comfortable.
But we knew we couldn’t hide the truth.

We were letting him suffocate.

~     ~     ~

A lucid man.
A failing lung. A decision made.
A breathing tube placed—just temporarily—
until the lungs healed.
Until they got stronger. Until he got stronger.
But I saw the regret the moment it was inserted.
Nevertheless. We agreed to give it a chance.

But days passed. Then weeks.
No improvement.
Being alert, he communicated with us well.
Through his writing, I got to know him well.
His adventures. His best memory. His regrets in life.
He was a good man.

But a man who never desired to live like this.

While the family disputed on what course of action to take next,
he remained calm and unwavering.

“Please let me go.” was what he would say.

Then finally the moment came.

The time to say goodbye.

~     ~     ~

That day, I let myself weep during rounds.
In front of a crowd of stoic faces.
To weep over a friend.
To weep over a human being.
Over his courage.
An impossible decision.
The loss of a life.
Everything.

Because I didn’t want to do it. But I did.

I let go.

•      •      •

“To Let Go” – the poem