His Room

His Room by Edmund Siejka During that long summer The door to Dad’s room was never closed Except at night When he drifted Into semi consciousness. Wasn’t it only yesterday He was in the kitchen Reading the morning paper Coffee by his side Our conversation brief “Have a good day” or “Be careful driving There’s too many crazies out there.” Last month A social worker called Informing us that Dad’s health insurance was not “comprehensive.” Meaning that the hospital bills would not be covered I repeated that word ” comprehensive” to myself several times Digesting its meaning Comparing it to Dad Who worked all his life Raised a family Lead a righteous life And I wondered Which part of Dad’s life was not comprehensive? We debated whether he should go to hospice Or brought home. We brought Dad home. His bedroom turned around We took turns caring for him My sister’s morning ritual was to Comb his hair Fluff pillows Open windows And a dutiful Granddaughter would place the morning newspaper By her Grandpa’s side. One early Saturday morning We heard a deep gurgling sound Running upstairs We witnessed His last moments Eyes opened Lips pressed together He seemed to smile And then he was gone. Drawing the blanket to his chest Someone retrieved the unread newspaper As we quietly withdrew downstairs To talk among ourselves.