Monday, April 28, 2008

After Life

After Life 4/28/08

I was barely fourteen when my grandpa departed
That’s when my thoughts on the afterlife started
I’m told that his blood cells were poisoned by cancer
I asked what came next but they gave me no answer

At eighty plus years of impeccable health
Leukemia struck him with terminal stealth
In a matter of weeks it reduced him to waste
The blessing I’ve learned was the factor of haste

A short decade later his scion fell ill
But father’s disease would take longer to kill
The plague in his nerves was a modern-day torture
And fight it he did with great patience and ardour

Though hardly uncommon, this bane he endured
The doctors admitted it couldn’t be cured
So pills were prescribed for intended relief
With no more success than an Indian chief

Handfuls of pain meds consumed every hour
As if they possessed some exceptional power
Needles and potions and treatments were tested
But Parkinson’s progress could not be arrested

With each passing year we could see him grow worse
And watching him suffer was no less a curse
Looking for something to lessen his anguish
Desperate to do more than let him just languish

I stood by his side to prevent him from falling
As he stood by me, when I was still crawling
At one time advising me, teaching and coaching
The tables were turned with his old age encroaching

In a ball on the floor, full of pain in the night
I mumbled and told him it’ll all be alright
He mumbled too and I bent down to hear
His face without color, his eyes full of fear

So why do I speak of this all in past tense?
The outcome we know for it bears no suspense
Patiently waiting we button our breath
Living in peace with the shadow of death

Our hopes for his comeback are somewhat absurd
Everyone knows that this thing can’t be cured
It won’t last forever, so somebody said
The heartache will stop when my father is dead

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