A few years ago my husband was critically ill and ended up in hospital full of drugs and hallucinating. Patrick was in the bed opposite him, and Patrick died in the night. Here is a poem written after listening to his descriptions of being close to death and heavily drugged. I’m quite sure he would have been more accurate, but I hope I’ve captured some of it.
Level 9
Black cat under my bed
6 foot cockroach burrowing into the wall
The God of the Dead whispering at me
From behind the threshold.
And in the corner Patrick cries
‘On nurse, I need some,
Nurse I need some
Nurse I need some
What should I do?’
His eyes wide, like the cat under my bed,
His hands reaching, stretching,
The feeder cup just out of reach
Milky tea, now cold.
Nurse comes. Hands on hips.
“Don’t want your tea, Patrick?
I’ll take it away then”.
And Hades laughs.
“This is hell”, he groans.
“We’ll take Patrick first,
Then perhaps you’d like to join us”.
They cover my face to stop me fighting
And Patrick dies, with no tea.
So near the sky. So very high
Which way to go? Up or down,
Or stay? Take the mask away
Take the mask away
Let me breath and stay
Leave a Reply