Tag: sad

To Let Go.

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Despair.

Asphyxiated by the device
meant to grant you life
you pleaded to be released.

Lines running
through your veins
fighting to give you strength-
they only imprisoned you.

You-
always present
aware of the
commotion about you.
Bustling nurses
weeping children
through it all
your eyes were
locked onto mine.

“Help me let go” was your plea.

You grabbed my hand
shook your head
as if you knew this act
had been playing
long enough.
As if someone had
interrupted your journey
toward the place
you were meant to go.

So we released you.
Withdrew your tube
diminished your drips.

Severed the chains that bound you.

We comforted you.
You turned
toward your children.
Through a surge of strength
you assured them
it would be okay-
that through your going on
they would go on.

Then you turned back to me.

Though undeserving
of your last moments
you entrusted them to me.
You held my hand
held my gaze.

“Thank you,” was what you said.

And then you took your last breath.

And let us go.

 •       •       •

This patient has been in my heart lately. This post is a re-sharing of an account of our last encounter. A gentle reminder to treasure each moment given. 

 •       •       •

The Background Story

Continue reading “To Let Go.”

Canvas.

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Imprisoned
to the depths
of turbid waters
long submerged
is the weight of
a bruised heart
its flesh marred
by the beating
of a tide’s unrest.

Numbed
are her fists upon
splintered walls
the scarlet flow
of secrets divulged
onto a tapestry-
a living portrait
unveiled
for all to see.

•

Angel.

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Cursed by thirst unquenchable
beneath a blazing sky,
Gaze distorted by burning mist
that wells within her eyes.

A soul that weeps before mankind,
for truths they’ve never seen–
of jaded hearts, of bleeding flesh,
of wounds that lie between.

An angel to the suffering,
a guardian to the soul,
a seraph who has fallen,
sunk within beguiling shoal.

Who will deliver this fragile one
whose eyes, too worn to cry?
To lift her up on mended wings
into the blazing sky?

•

Melancholia.

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Heed the echos of a heartache,
anguished sear of reverie.
Feel its scalp bleed down her face,
scathing tears of memories.
See the eyes that once freely smiled
fading with defeat.
As silent fields in which she lies
drift away with night’s conceit.

•

I’m Sorry I Couldn’t Do More.

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You took your life.

I’m sorry I was only
fifteen feet away.

The doctors were only fifteen feet away.

You didn’t know this.
But I spent days and nights
next door to where you decided
to end your life. Where the doctors
gather, pondering over differentials…
treatments…dissecting our every move
to ensure that we are doing the
right thing for you.

The right thing…

If I had known you,
I would have fought for you.
I know you weren’t my patient;
I know we had never even met.
I am just the person who found
you. Who pronounced you.
You were already cold,
but still, I placed the
stethoscope against
your chest and
listened.

I didn’t hear anything.

Did you hear me as
I wept for you?

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry
you were suffering.
I’m sorry you felt
as if you had
no way out.

I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. 

•

This is a reflection over an event that happened during residency.
An event I still think about at times. 
A lingering guilt.