Calling Home

I couldn't sleep
The other night,
worried about money
even though
I have enough;
worried to sickness;
mistakes made,
some good things done,
but worried to sickness,
wondering what
dad would want me to do.

he is not dead you know;
the body died ten years ago,
but the soul and spirit are
still very much alive somewhere.

That's My Pop!
He was always using that phrase.

most people don't have a
soul or a spirit so when
the body goes there's nothing
left to live a life after life,
but not so with my dad;

so I called mom knowing
she has been really tired and
they got her to the phone
in the nursing home and
she could barely speak,
barely had the strength to speak,
so we talked less than a minute;
she said she thought it must be me calling,
and she's ok, just very tired.
I spoke to the attendant;
he said she isn't sleeping much
and her cognitive functioning
what a clinical phrase
keeps
getting worse,
but this I know and I say
thanks
and hang up.
now two days later
I had to cry a little bit,
or maybe a lot,
I haven't cried in a long time,
because I know I am nothing
to write home about and get less
and less with each passing day
and I don't know what to do.
what is it that dad is telling me?
speak up!
I can't hear you yet,
Daddy,
speak up.
I'll keep listening
I'll still be here;
just let me know.

I spoke with mom one last time
A couple of months later.
She didn't know who I was
And could only mutter a few syllables.
The attendant took back the phone
And told me she was like this all the time
And getting worse,
But she wasn't sick,
Her system was just giving out.

Then just before Thanksgiving
The neighbor sent me an email,
Saying, sorry but your mom
Died last night.
I thought about the old sick joke
About the singing telegram.
Well, if nothing else, you gotta
Appreciate the irony.

Then there was no one to call.