Generations Through Precious Fluid

11:30 pm, it’s Dee—my heart is in my throat before he finishes “Rusty”
Grandmother—his wife of 60 years—in the hospital again: stroke
No waiting now, commence immediately upon the long meditation of I-75

Cursing the void, having no God to blame
2 more days, 2 fucking days and we would have arrived
Ruefully I lament the near encounter of joy, joy one last time
I struggle to control my speed, my anger, my knowledge

She will not have peace
Struggling, no sanity
“No, goddamnit, I will not take that Xanex.”
This is what she cannot say, thus magnifying the volume of her silence

It must be done; it is necessary
I cry for her, I cry for myself, for all who share her love
As they bind her hands and feet
Furious struggle,
No sanity, no peace
She beseeches me,
Still full in some way of the power of herself prior to the shadow
My broken heart shreds

At an earlier point, before time consumes itself
I take my child home, he is my tool
Invoking my desire to see her joy
Skittish catlike initially
“Who is this creature, she will not speak?”
Warming finally, he canters on an emaciated knee
More knee than anyone would ever guess
He smiles with delight at this beautiful creature
Whose love for him he will only ever intuit
Her attempts at speech, painful for me, funny to him
The “I love you” he will never hear
Nonetheless, their smiles give me hope
Her spirit I will pass on
Umbilical cord, thrice removed
Yet, not thereby disconnected

Time continues to fold upon itself
I enter the room, she smiles
Things are better, then language fails
Speech, it is not: Wernicke’s Aphasia, aka. word salad
Shredded heart pureed
Dee touches my shoulder
The message is clear

In the wee hours I am at her side
Indecipherable needs
I give my voice to Robert Frost
Poetry to soothe the soul
Eyes betraying recognition, was it painful
The road less traveled, her desire soon to be granted

Generations Through Precious Fluid

Rusty Gentry

Joined November 2007

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 3

Artist's Description

Just two days prior to my wife, child and I traveling 18 hours to see our families, my grandmother is hospitalized: for the final time.
She fell into a coma 3 days after I arrived. I am thankful to have been with her when she died, on Jan. 3, 1997.

Artwork Comments

  • Hathor
  • Rusty Gentry
  • lisameryl
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desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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