Last Day

A brain can only take so much, and Adam's had not coped well 
with the trauma. Things were done, things better left unsaid.
The miracle must be now, if there was to be one. 
We whispered in his ear sweet words, told him to come back, wake up. 
If he could. If he wanted to.

Cords and cables detached, lifelines loosened.

We held our breath, waiting for his to begin.
Our hearts stopped, hoping his would beat, but no.
They did the test twice, just to make sure.
Another one, down the hall, to check for brain activity, even a glimmer. Nothing.
People trickled back and forth to say goodbye, left. We didn't.
You could see it on their faces. They'd been so sure, some of them,
that Adam would leave the hospital, that God would hear.
When the miracle came, it was packaged differently, 
addressed to someone else.
His body wasn't done quite yet, you see. 
Papers were signed. Phone calls made.
Cords and cables hooked back up. 
Chest rose and fell again, as if alive.
Heartbeat's solemn dance across the screen 
but I was there, I could see the change. System down. Nobody home.
Busy people collected measurements and readings, 
connected with hospitals across the state.  
Time for different doctors. Helicopters came and went, 
precious cargo in Igloo coolers. My precious, now theirs.
Since childhood, his fireman's dream of saving lives,
finally came true.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2012