Hemorrhage

They found her

face-to-the-tile

in the restroom.

Breathing still

Heart beating still

And still, still so still.

What they really found

was not her, I feel.

I visited what they found today

At the hospital.

For convenience and courtesy

I shall call what they found

Her, still.

Leo said last night blood poured from her nose.

I envision her brain swimming in it.

Drowning.

The body gasped and choked.

A nurse applied suction.

Why is she on her back? I wondered.

I talked, in case perhaps she could,

from the tomb of coma,

Hear, still.

I told her it was OK to go,

that she need not fear,

and that the Blessed Mother

would enfold her in Her arms.

I wondered if I was lying.

I sang her Mary songs,

Recited the Hail Mary in her ear.

The nurse, who had very clear compassionate eyes

Said my singing calmed her patient.

Death or a life without sentience are the two options now.

I watch her gasp and choke, then snore.

And I put myself in her place.

A place I never wish to be.

Would I, I wonder, have the courage to end it for her?

I mean, what if it goes on and on and on with no change?

Just a thought experiment, for the record.

But one cannot but wonder about these things,

confronted each as we all are,

at one time or another,

with our own Her.

I wondered about life and death,

life after death and living death.

Realized many of my sentimental

and comfortable notions

were deserting me, post-haste.

When I was a child, I had a play telephone

with a recording in it.

It frightened me so much

they had to remove the recording

before I would play with it.

Because I knew this phone was wrong –

I knew about phones, real ones,

but this phone was scary.

Because it looked like a phone,

and behaved like a phone,

but (horror, vertigo!) there was

no one on the other end.