Details |
Brittany Downing Poem
There was a man I once knew.
His name was Norman.
You know how there’s a first for everything?
Well, he was my first.
Despite my visits to the nursing homes with my grandma,
I really didn’t know anything about them.
I had to learn what an Ombudsman was.
Despite having a little one,
I had to learn how to properly tend to people.
At the time, I was a virgin in every sense of the word but one.
I knew nothing.
I knew of no one.
I was made to keep my head down and learn.
Ask questions, but don’t argue.
I saw you there.
I would walk with you around your bedroom.
Somehow you changed bedrooms.
I was so happy to see you.
I was sad for your condition though.
All the hurts would spill forth from your dry, chapped lips.
Believe me, you had a lot of hurts.
It’s as if you’ve spent years in a trench.
Weren’t you a World War veteran?
You’d know what I’m talking about.
How people would get holes in their bodies?
I saw a lot of painful holes.
Oozing, goopy, gooey and painful holes.
You endured so much.
When you finally fell into an eternal sleep,
When I finally saw you in your black body bag,
As you were being rolled along the hallway,
I couldn’t help but feel like you’ve had a good, long life.
Until that moment,
I once again referred to myself as the medical virgin.
That was my very first time.
No, not with death in general,
But with being that close to a person’s final moments.
I would watch and wait patiently.
You would scream in agony.
Those deep, dark holes couldn’t have been good.
They oozed a smelly liquid.
I don’t take offense.
This was always something I never had to learn.
I’m the type who would talk about poop at the dinner table.
From that moment on,
I knew I was in for quite the adventure.
Mr. Norman.
Sir. Captain. General. Sargent. Colonel.
Whatever you were,
Father. Grandfather.
You were my first.
Copyright © Brittany Downing | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Brittany Downing Poem
I hold your hand,
Look into your eyes.
I see fear there.
You don’t want to die.
I watch you breathe in.
I watch you breathe out.
My entire world is trapped in plastic.
I’m surrounded by the sound of oxygen machines.
I watch as you breathe your last.
I wish for you to fly high.
Yet another one gone.
Somebody’s grandmother.
Somebody’s mother.
The people around me,
All huddled together,
Praying that they’re not the next one to go.
All we do now is wash our hands.
We shield our faces.
What are we really shielding our faces from?
It misses its target and hits me right dead in the heart.
We’re not really protected from anything.
It all starts with the simple sniffles.
It travels into the chest.
No one dares set foot outside anymore.
I can no longer hear your voice.
You no longer scold me.
I miss you now.
I can’t help but to feel sadness.
You’re gone.
You’re no longer living here.
I’ll always have you engraved in my heart.
Here I go once again.
Yet another one is dead and gone.
Please, don’t struggle anymore.
Please, rest in peace.
I’ll hold your hand until the very end.
Please, never let go.
I’ll wipe away all the tears.
I’ll stand strong amidst this sorrow.
There goes somebody’s grandfather,
Somebody’s father.
It’s somebody’s reason for being.
I’ll fake a smile,
Walk through these tragic hallways.
Yet one more gone.
They’ve all left me behind.
They’ve all given their lives to someone like me.
I hold their memories close to my heart.
Who knew a simple sniffle could kill?
When will I wake from this nightmare?
Your warmth slowly slips away.
Your grip slowly loosens.
The light in your eyes fades.
Man, I feel old!
There’s nothing I can do.
I’ll just make your final moments comfortable.
All hope is gone.
Dread has taken homage in my heart.
It’s time to get drunk.
It’s time to think about life and death.
It’s the same every day and every night.
This is our new normal.
Someone’s always breathing their final breaths.
There’s nothing I can do.
Just be there.
Just hold your hand.
Nothing’s changing.
I’m chasing after hope.
Running on caffeine and cigarettes.
There’s no getting over these emotions.
Let’s disappear into isolation.
Depression and anxiety galore!
No one to hold my hand.
No one to comfort me.
No one to tell me that everything will be okay.
Copyright © Brittany Downing | Year Posted 2025
|