The last breath

(for my dad)

Watching closely.
For the transition between now and... what?
Something else. Somewhere else. No longer here.
Not the ending. Definitely not the ending.
Understanding without needing to put it in words.

Experiencing the powerful comfort
of having heard and said I love you so many times.
The sacredness of continuing to love to this moment.
Until nothing. And everything. All at once.

Wedged between my brother and sister
in a small room with a small couch.
Next to our mom who showed us over and over
what it is to love someone. That much.
(Wondering how she could possibly say goodbye.)

Being prepared for this moment
through more than ten years of gradual losses.
Little by little. The slowest of seasons.

And then, in that room, you find yourself
suddenly unprepared.

(Looking back, I realize now
faith did not need a prayer
because it was part of everything.)

Two days of watching and waiting
(was it more than two days?)
and then it took us by surprise.

The last breath,
defined only by the absence
of the one to follow.

.....

Later, in the church I grew up in,
standing together, mom listening from up front,
finding strength in each other, we sang.
"My chains are gone, I've been set free."
Knowing it to be finally true.

Realizing the breath we've been holding
can now be released.