So Thin.

No poem tonight, no words of delight. My father’s in hospital, fighting for his life. I held his thin hands and kissed his cheek. Skin looking pale, body so weak. He struggles to talk, voice comes and goes. Parkinson’s symptoms, oxygen feed in nose. Lungs contain fluid, muscle strength gone. Only weighs 67 kilos, but that’s still more than his son!
His brother visits, the one I remember – already had lots of surgery and medical dilemmas. He’s talking and jokes to elicit a smile. Dad returns joke, mind sharp – no denial.
The board on the wall, has written “when stable”; they’ll check out his lungs, on the operating table. It’s scary to think, of this man just like me; so frail of body, what else do I see? His strength and his love; in the words I catch clearly. (I’m here to remind him, of mutual love dearly.) His fear and discomfort, of these I am known. Still hope for the future, whatever may come. “I’ll see you tomorrow” I say before leaving. And release of his hand, as his face tilts to sleeping.

[something different, once again! 😉 I was just going to write a flow of prose, to express how I feel, to deal with it all. Because that is just who I am, an expressive person. But the rhyme kicked in straight away, with the first sentence, and I just kept going. This is not polished, this is raw, rough, and real life – just like today has been. I don’t know how I feel (about all this) because there is so much feeling happening. I would like to work that out in writing too perhaps, but that’s another story…]