by Ellisa Baggott

You still cross my mind, every day.
Those twelve hours.
The way your chest rose and fell
The way your fingers twitched
The way your family’s prayers comforted you throughout the night.
In the first hour, I felt your pulse
Weak, albeit present
And your hand was lukewarm.
A ventilator pumped life into you
A tube fed you
A line medicated you.
But you were at peace.
In the last hour, your pulse had gone
Empty and cold against my skin.
I held your hand
And you held mine.
Until you were brave enough to let go.
I said goodbye to a man I didn’t even know.
A hard goodbye.