WE ARE NOT HERE 
written when our Rikki was facing major surgery

Happenstance has brought us here to sanitized surroundings where it is clear that we must be serious you and I and pay attention, as our hearts and lives are now entwined with strangers.

Here where frantic deeds and urgent whispers portend fates we may not wish to contemplate. Here where love is patched together again –internally, externally--in some semblance of the former self. I hardly recognize you for tubes and blood and fading glint in eyes that reflect my very soul.

Helpless, I watch as swinging doors and wafting disinfectant swallow you whole and leave me in pieces. I lend you now to other, gentle hands and keener skills and pray that they, like you, will fight a fight that surpasses all that we have ‘ere endured.

Before the tears, the guilt threatens to drown me; yet I have always put you first. In this, I must bow to belief that I have done what I can do and will continue yet. As always, you will not want; but I, I, my heart, want you to run, to play, to comfort me in future grief.

So you must not go. Behind those doors you must be brave and kind and gentle and appreciative and wrap your way around their hearts like mine so they, like I, would gladly trade their souls for yours. Engage them in this fight of ours, while I seek solace in a thousand prayers that wing their way in electronic flight to sit beside me and take your place but temporarily.

One thoughtless moment, one careless error cannot break the iron bond, which lesser beings insist is made of thread. For now, my tomorrow is tied only to today and what transpires between you and your angels, be they here or be they There. Now or tomorrow, whichever comes first, you and I will feel the strength in the multitude of similar bonds and reluctant releases. And we will draw sustenance, and we will be complete.

So I wait. In an empty room. But not alone. For memories, both earned and stolen, rest quietly in your spot, nestled snuggly near my core like your life tube so we may remain connected. And connected we shall remain. We must.

And tomorrow, whenever that shall come, we will gather our fears and frightful tremblings, leaving behind the impersonal tools and mechanisms that were your life’s blood, and head for home. And yet, I smile, for I, with the help of our friends, am secure in the knowledge that in fact, you had never left.

Copyright 1998
Penny Cary