And she said that she said to you
"It's ok now, just go to sleep".
Just go.
This isn't you home, anymore.
Anymore, in this ward, in this bed. Anymore. It's not a place where you should lay your head.
And your skin was softer than any skin I've ever felt.
Your hands became so small and cold.
Covered in burns and bruises.
Your gut was as hard as a rock.
It shook me up.
With your mouth open face.
They cleaned you so well, but you were dead.
It became so easy to love you, in the week before you left.
It became so easy. To cry and kiss you on the cheek, even though we were never close, like that.
Even though that sort of tender care, probably made you sick.
You'd still make jokes and roll your eyes, but you didn't want us all to leave - You said.
I fed you and I stroked your arm and we watched shows together...and I bought you a card, on your birthday, and it sat in that beautiful window - looking out to sea.
You are barely gone, but you're already a memory.
And she said, it's time to go now.
And I said "I'll be back tomorrow. I'll see you later"
And you got sick that night, full of sadness and pain and fright, that night.
It's a way to end, it will always end that way, fear is a grim and mortal chain.
"I will see you later" I said. Dad. When she told me, it was the way I expected, and the tears don't come straight away. Not the genuine ones, not the ones that hurt your teeth. That take your breath. They come at home, alone.
I wish we could have had the kind of love that was apparent and soft. Bean bag love that would have made me feel embraced and safe but that was not meant to be, that desire does nothing but torture me, and cement this inconsistent grief.
And I said "I'll see you later", on that Monday when I left. I love you Dad, even though you were sometimes good and often bad.
I love you in all your humour, anger, fondness and sickness.
I love you in all the secrets that you kept, from us about how you felt, and in your death. Your strength in facing all this awfulness and your soft skin and open mouth and how you left...
In your red t-shirt and your red watch, in your hospital bed, and how I kissed your cheek before I went.
And how she said, "Its ok now, just go to sleep".
