THE NURSING HOME

It began with forgetfulness.
Then Parkinson’s set in,
followed by complete loss of memory.
The doctor was to the point:
“You should consider a nursing home.
He may harm your mother.”

In time, arrangements were made.
On Sunday the family gathered
for a sad good-bye to our way of life.
We had our customary family feast,
accompanied by laughter and reminiscing.
I went off to myself and cried.

Monday followed,
the day he was to leave.
My two nephews were to take him.
I had to work,
but when I came home,
he was still there.

It was now in my hands.
I coaxed him to my car,
telling him we would be visiting a friend.
A college professor once asked,
"Is it ever okay to lie"?
This was one of those times.

We arrived at our destination,
went inside, and moved toward admissions.
He trembled, as though he knew.
I trembled because I knew.
A security alarm was pinned
on the back his shirt.
I left him there, and then I cried.

Six months passed.
He was treated well.
Someone from the family
visited him daily except the day it flooded.
The road was blocked.
My sister said,
"He’d a-found a way to get to us."

Suddenly, he fell and broke his hip.
An ambulance took him to the hospital.
He trembled because he was scared.
My son, a nurse, comforted him in the E.R.
That night he died, but I couldn’t cry.
My father was finally free.

©2011 By David Lee Thompson