We all gather around her bed,
hugging each other, eyes brimming with tears.
Little Sarah just passed away-
I pronounce her officially dead.
The moment that we’ve been waiting for-
for over a month, the end of a futile struggle.
The moment that she’s been waiting for-
for over a year, when we started
our relentless pricking and poking.
There is nothing-
Nothing that one can say
to the parents of a dying child.
The father, staring tearlessly ahead,
The mother, desolate, wanting that one
last hug.
Words fail me time and time again,
as I try to hide my shivering, the
goose bumps on my arms,
pretending to blow my nose, as if
I have a cold.
Trying desperately to banish to the
furthest recesses of my mind,
the thought that says
"there, but by the grace of God, go I."
At this moment, of supposed shared pain,
of unimaginable horror, I try to disconnect,
selfish to the core, the consummate professional,
efficiently managing my time, but guilty,
guilty of abandoning them to burn
in their own private hell,
as I struggle
to get out of mine,
in time to be home
for the dinner party tonight.