His breath shallows, his body a shadow, an empty husk of what it used to be. Can you tell that he's breathing? The gentle rise and descent of his chest, his eyes hardly looking like they're creasing in pain. The oxygen mask is musk with each sticky breath, fogs up and clears, timed to his rythmic inhale and exhale, each cold and shuddering.
The sun shines through the window, and as the moon takes over, the fingers of the rays creep back and shadows the world in darkness. Pressure on his palm, as someone clutches his hands. He's wary, but unable to wake up. His heart strains with each intake of breath, lasting, holding on.
Slowly, each one more is harder than the next. The soft touch of someone else's fingers are gone. He tries to yell, tries to break free from this silent spell, yet his body does not respond. Overworked, his mind was, and slowly it begans to die.
He had no control over his cold body.
As he departed slowly, no one noticed the gentle twitch in his fingers, the one that formed a crooked heart shape. For all his life he hasn't muttered a word, but through his lips, came a cracked whisper, I love you.
He is all he could ever be and more. His suffering has ended, swiftly, easily departed, and love has poured and coursed through his veins. He was loved, is loved, and always will be loved, never to be forgotten.
You will go through all hindrance, obstructions, encumbrance, impediments at this point, but Heaven is only a thought, a contemplation away.
Stay strong, and remember that the love that you've given him has already surpassed his death.
The sun shines through the window, and as the moon takes over, the fingers of the rays creep back and shadows the world in darkness. Pressure on his palm, as someone clutches his hands. He's wary, but unable to wake up. His heart strains with each intake of breath, lasting, holding on.
Slowly, each one more is harder than the next. The soft touch of someone else's fingers are gone. He tries to yell, tries to break free from this silent spell, yet his body does not respond. Overworked, his mind was, and slowly it begans to die.
He had no control over his cold body.
As he departed slowly, no one noticed the gentle twitch in his fingers, the one that formed a crooked heart shape. For all his life he hasn't muttered a word, but through his lips, came a cracked whisper, I love you.
He is all he could ever be and more. His suffering has ended, swiftly, easily departed, and love has poured and coursed through his veins. He was loved, is loved, and always will be loved, never to be forgotten.
You will go through all hindrance, obstructions, encumbrance, impediments at this point, but Heaven is only a thought, a contemplation away.
Stay strong, and remember that the love that you've given him has already surpassed his death.
(God bless you and your family, you poyo. Lots and lots of love.)
-July 2009.
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