A few weeks ago, I died.
It was a quiet Sunday morning
Filled with warm sunshine
and a mild chest discomfort
I surprised myself
by doing the prudent thing
without knowing what I was doing
I arrived at the ER…Just in case
I listen as someone is told it could be a
That’s me they’re speaking to.
We’re going to lay you out on this table
And check out a few things, just to be sure
Just relax we’ll take care of everything.
A gentle push, an insistent pull, they align my body
Beneath the banks of technology
I’m looking up, into so many earnest faces
the self-assurance of those that have been here before
Their confidence seeks to reassure, to contain the rising panic
Among the crowd, my daughter, the tears in her eyes
Betrays the reassurance she seeks to convey
With a squeeze of my hand she quietly withdraws
In her place anxiety flows in, a cold grip on my imagination.
A disembodied voice says we just need to take a chest x-ray
I’ll just slide this plate underneath you
Stepping out of sight to take the x-ray
My heart chose that moment to stop.
No bright celestial lights appeared
No chorus of angelic voices
One minute the reassuring background murmur
The next minute, blackness and a silence as deep as death itself
Gone in that instant, my entire lifetime of certainty
And so, it was that I died on that Mother’s Day