In the March Snow
Who knows what the day will hold for us ahead, the chaos of the world, the confusion of each person aimlessly moving from task to task amid the uncertainty. Every day, a new piece of information on top of the pile of details and questions already waiting outside the door. Morning coffee comes with more cancellations, evening news with another layer of dread and fear.
Who knows what the day presents, the outside brighter in the early morning hours than I remember it being the night before. I peer through the blinds at a sudden snowstorm, ripples of white covering the cars and trees and streets on the other side of the windowpane. I think about my father, and wonder how we’ll make it to his bedside.
Who knows how the time will tick by, each of us with piles of books and projects to keep us entertained for the remainder of the day. But the timeline is not ours, and after settling in and checking to make sure he’s still comfortable and breathing, he starts to move his mouth in response to some of our conversation, and we tease that he is trying to chime in, his head nodding about every few minutes.
But the timeline is not ours, and his eyes open into tiny slits, the whites shining back with a hint of brown just beneath the eyelids. I tell him we’re here, assure him that things are taken care of, promise him of blue skies in the next movement of his life.
I rest my hand on his chest as he takes his last few breaths, a squeeze of feeling and release, a pause of confusion as we wonder if we’ve witnessed the moment of his final escape.
Who knows what the day will hold for us ahead.
