by Thomas Davis
The doctor said what needed to be said.
We asked the questions that we had to ask.
Compassion lined the doctor’s careful mask.
She held him; he held her; the awful dread
we’d felt at seeing him so weak in bed
now turned into a nightmare, a formal masque
that left our darkest primal fears unmasked,
our sense of living shattered, left in shreds.
How long? he asked the doctor as he sighed.
The doctor said, two weeks, some hours, some days.
She bent her head into his lap and cried;
he sobbed, his mother cried; I fought the haze
unmanning me. What could we do? I tried
to think, but, looking at my son, was dazed.
fourwindowspress 
too powerful for me to reply to such intimate words, i can only respect and honor them, thank you…
My heart goes out to you and Edith… I can’t even imagine this kind of pain you’ve been through….
Writing is therapeutic for you both. This is such a sad memory for us all.
thanks for visiting.
a great portrayal of how illness and death affects families and the individual on a personal level. grief is a bitter thing… hope you feel better soon.
This is profoundly moving. I felt shaken when I first read it. I’ve now re-read the sonnet a few hours later and with the same reaction. Thank you for posting this. Please excuse an inadequate comment.
Fine piece of verse – raw grief expressed and distilled into words; my deepest sympathies for you & your wife.
Thomas,
I recently heard Marilyn Taylor, former poet laureate of the state of Wisconsin, say that sometimes it is necessary for form to come between a poet and his subject. I was not entirely sure what she meant by this until I read your Sonnet 18 and its expression of the unimaginable grief of learning of a son’s impending death. This is one of the most deeply moving poems I have ever read; the sonnet form encapsulates some small portion of your overwhelming sense of loss and makes it palpable to the reader.
Thank you for sharing this exquisite sonnet, this deeply personal expression of your love for your son.
Best regards,
Roy Beckemeyer
…having experienced something similar myself, I, too, am extremely moved by your Sonnet 18. I often think about what I might have written if I had been “awake” to my own voice those years ago. Thankfully, you have such a good grasp of this vehicle, this mode of expression to honour your son and your family’s pain. May it nourish you and others…
I can’t imagine what to say–beautiful pain? My thoughts and prayers are deeply with you. God’s blessing on you all.
The pain of grief never really goes away but it does soften up over time…
This is beautiful yet so sad. Based on the comments, it seems that this is a real-life experience for you, which makes it all the sadder, but more poignant than ever. Take care always. *hugs*
Ethel and I thank everyone who have responded to this and her poem “Butterfly.” Kevin died a little over a year ago in July. This poem, as some of you may have guessed, is part of a sonnet sequence that I wrote while Kevin was so terribly ill. It helped me, at the time, deal with the horror we were going through. We still miss Kevin everyday.
Thanks for the sonnet, my thoughts are with you and your wife.
Beautiful and heart-rending. I’m so sorry for your loss…and glad that you are keeping him with you through Four Windows Press.