I was There.

This one is a companion piece of sorts to my piece, You aren't Here.

I was there the last time she was awake.

I was there 

as her small, frail lungs

struggled under the task

of telling me

she 

loved 

me.

I was there 

as her cold, bony hand

reached out for mine,

which was encased in

a purple ICU glove.

I was there

the next morning,

just like I promised her I would be.

I was there 

as family and nurses

filed in and out 

of hospice room #26.

I was there

shuffling around the 5th floor

of a nearly deserted hospital

like a zombie

with the rest of my exhausted family 

at 11:00 P.M. on a Friday.

I was there, 

waiting by my phone

when it rang at 6:50 A.M. 

on a Saturday

when my aunt called

but couldn't speak

through her sobs.

I was there

as the woman I shared a name with,

the woman I loved 

with every fiber of my being

was lowered into the ground

on a rainy February day.