The Day My Dad Died [after I read Raymond Carver]

October. I was going to pick you up every day from hospital

But every day you told me to call again tomorrow.

I saw you Monday, at least, when you told me that you loved me, unexpectedly

As I walked out the door and I responded, “I loved you too,” to an empty hall.

I desperately wanted to go back and replay that moment, but it had passed.



Thursday, you put the doctor on the phone

And she talked about palliative care,

After which you asked if I understood, but I didn’t understand.

Mum didn’t understand either.

She just wanted to get you home and feed you good food.



Two hours later, another doctor rang,

Saying we should come quickly,

Before it was too late. We were stunned.

I had to get my brother off the baseball field,

He didn’t understand either, but he came.



I called my sister, she had just arrived home,

An hour away, and she asked me if I was sure.

It was fair to say she didn’t understand either,

She was a little cross, suspecting I was being dramatic, I think,

But she said she would come too.



My Mother, brother and I got to the hospital an hour later,

We walked the silent corridors of the hospital to my father’s ward,

Stopped by a nurse who asked who we’d come to see.

Our father and husband. I’m so sorry the nurse started,

but he passed away an hour ago. We stood there unable to understand.



My mother wanted to see him, so my brother went with her.

I went downstairs to meet my sister, who’d be along soon.

She wanted to know who we could talk to, who we could consult.

I held her and said nobody, it was too late for that.

We went upstairs. I went into see dad with my sister.



And there he was, his face yellow, his mouth set in a frown,

Half open as if to let us imagine him taking his final breath.

We stood there in silence, there was nothing left to say.

I kiss his forehead and was shocked that it was cold.

He had left the building, an hour before we go there to say goodbye.



I went downstairs to get air, and call my other half, and to cry.

My uncle and auntie came along, having been told to come,

I told my father’s brother that he’d died, he inhaled and stiffened

I wasn’t sure if that was my role, but what choice did I have.

We all waited in the waiting room trying to understand,

what else was there to do.