Going Home

On Tuesday evening one of our patients, Watee, passed away after about three months care at the Center. He was a 32 year old son, husband, and father of two beautiful little girls. He was HIV+ but also had tuberculosis of the brain as well as a serious brain infection that ultimately took him. Luckily his whole family arrived on the afternoon of his ultimate passing so he was surrounded by his loved ones as well the Care Center staff. Below is a poem I wrote in the wake of his death based on the interactions in his room before and at the time of his death.

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I’m sorry,

Whispered

On labored inhales.

I’m so sorry, my son

Sighed

On trembling exhales.

A sudden cry escaped,

Not his, but hers.

A last breath exchanged,

Not a wife, but a widow.

Come say goodbye,

Beckoned

To the pair of eyes

Watching on tip-toe

From the safety of outside.

Come say goodbye to your father,

Begged

To the pair of legs

Running at a seven-year-old sprint

From the fact dad’s never coming back.

Another attempt at a

final farewell from

his four-year old failed

as she screams,

he’s not going,

he’s not going.

Come son, now we go

Declared

As his body is laid

On the bed of a silver pick-up.

Come son, now we go home,

Uttered

As her lips stick to the lie

That everything is going to be the same.