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My Father is Dying

Cathie BorrieCathie Borrie

 

My father is dying.

I wash his face, comb his hair, clean his mouth — and listen.
All day all night long I listen to his sporadic, gurgling, labored breathing until at last there is no sound at all.

I wonder if I will miss him. Stay missing how things might have been.

Could never have been.

Comments

  • Mary Anne Mercer

    Seattle 04/20/2013 07:20:35 PM

    Cathie, The scenes of your mother's dying were beautiful, poignant and very familiar. It seems impossible to put in words the depth and intensity of that experience but you have brought back much of what i lived through just a year ago. Thank you.

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