Today is my Dying Day.
All last night my husband held my hand.
Ten hours ago a doctor came and said
‘You should consider turning the machine off sir.
She cannot see, she cannot hear
She cannot breathe, she cannot think.
Your wife is braindead.’
My husband wept ;
‘Oh no, not her; it cannot be’
As he sobbed and kissed my hair and said my name
The softly-spoken Sister came
Explained to him there was no hope –
‘It would be kinder to let her go’
He whispered quietly through his tears
‘Just one more night for her and me’.
And so he sat and spoke to me
Of our life, those forty years.
Of our love, and of our children
And our sweet grandchildren;
Happy holidays by the sea
Great-grandparents proudly watching;
And he laughed; and cried
And I cried inside – but my soul smiled.
In vain I tried to give a sign. To cry out
‘I am alive; I hear you’.
But no words came.
His hand relaxed; I knew he slept.
For a while I was alone;
I felt him stir and stroke my face;
The birds began to sing.
My children came – they said goodbye and kissed me,
Held my hand and said to the little ones:
‘Say Goodbye to Nanny’
Some too small to understand were held up laughing
To kiss my cheek;
The older ones whispered as they kissed me,
And I felt their hot tears.
Then they walked away to their futures.
Futures that should not be marred by long remembered sorrow.
Then we were alone, my man and I.
He held me tight; the Doctor came.
I felt him nod; I heard the click and
He promised to love me til his Dying Day, as I love him
To this day and beyond. For
Today is My Dying Day.