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    Parker Owens
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Traveling Notes - 1. Marking the Hours

For joy and grief, for happiness and tears, and for all that is love.


I sit here at my Mother's bedside.

 

 

She is terribly weak, needs to eat, but finds it is very hard to do. The hospital food does not make the task easier. We two amused ourselves by watching YouTube clips of Victor Borge, whom she very much enjoyed, and I fear I have lulled her to sleep with the sound of my voice, reading an online novel by W. Somerset Maugham. I could not find a 'cheery' book, as she wanted, but then, she had no suggestions, either, being tired out by the work of healing, poor dear.

Chuckles
and brief wan smiles
return as gentle ghosts
to a beloved face, ravaged and
deep-creased;
bright eyes
bid haunting welcome to old rooms,
cobwebbed, yet remembered
with glad, fading
spirits.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Sleep came
creeping on words
forgotten since college,
read to the room by the awkward

third son;
laughter
and shared humor pass the long hours
twixt meals and medicine,
the twin tools of

torture.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The North Carolina that I can see from the big window in Mom's room consists of a wide expanse of rambling hospital building, angles and planes of jumbled roofscape covered in a grey pebbled material, and a deep green wall of trees beyond. Above it all is a sky which starts out each morning as blue as any forget-me-not, but inevitably gives way to afternoon cumulus piled high like mountains of pillows.

 

The day's
collected heat
radiates from brickwork
in waves that greet massive piled
cloud ranks
tumbling
down steep, green, far-off mountainsides
with colors so vivid
to paint the sky
in tears.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Within the room, we have a motley collection of monitors and cords, though fewer than when I arrived. Still, the specialized hospital bed inflates and deflates itself flatulently, making minute adjustments and changes to try and ward off the bedsores and aches to which those immobilized by injury and recuperation are prey.

The rooms
adjacent swell
with high voiced beeps and tones,
playing soli against the ripieno
rising,
tutti,
nurses and staff playing their parts
in the brisk concerto
of organized
healing.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

I am glad Mom got a respite from the dull minimalist composition that is all she can hear. Mom, who takes an interest in everyone and everything around her, cannot help being bored without people with whom she may interact. She slept yesterday afternoon, and is sleeping now. Yesterday evening, my brother trotted out his iPhone, and called up my eldest brother, putting him on speakerphone. Then there was a call to some old friends, and a call home to those who did not make the trip with me. Mom seemed happy, and as animated as she has been in awhile.

 

Distant voices
present as lightning, sweet with blessings,
betray fond tears.

Love from those so far away
comes to hold the pain at bay;

Cheerful tidings,
welcome as unexpected rainbows,
assuage sadness.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

My brother and I sang old songs to her,
familiar as a favorite sweater,
and she fell asleep smiling.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

This is a hard trip. I cannot help thinking that the window for actual recovery is quite narrow.

 

Watchful is the weary fighter,
hard the mortal battle waged,
hold to love and living tighter,
so the hurt may be assuaged.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Sundown is often a hard time.

My brother will arrive soon,
and we will try to
keep mom's spirits up in song
until she can rest.

Comments are welcome, in all forms, and of all types. My deep thanks to AC Benus, for his encouragement and help.
Copyright © 2017 Parker Owens; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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On July 6, 2017 at 4:47 PM, Aviana said:

I might sound slightly dramatic...but your writing actually left my feelings tried...You made the picture so alive, I thought I was seeing it n not reading...

Your writing depict  your emotions in a beautiful manner...n it actually made me wanna try my hand on haibun!

I hope your mother gets well soon...fingers crossed!!

 

I am glad you were inspired. And if you felt tired afterwards, then I accurately conveyed what was happening in my brain and in my being present. Far better to write than take a video. Thanks for being patient. I am so glad you took time to read and comment. 

  • Like 2
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It's easy to visualize everything you're writing in this.  This is beautifully done.  I hope you're mother is doing better.

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On 8/25/2017 at 9:51 PM, WolfM said:

It's easy to visualize everything you're writing in this.  This is beautifully done.  I hope you're mother is doing better.

 

Thank you, Wolf, for your really generous words. Alas, Mom passed away, but peacefully  in a quiet place with a garden view a few weeks ago. Your reaction to this poem of observations brings both smiles and tears. Again, thank you. 

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This is beautiful. I found this courageous and heartwarming to share with us. May she rest in peace. Much love to you, Parker.

  • Love 2
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18 hours ago, BDANR said:

This is beautiful. I found this courageous and heartwarming to share with us. May she rest in peace. Much love to you, Parker.

 

Thank you. You have my thanks for reading and my hugs for your kindnesses. Mom rests now in a lovely place, and in peace. 

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Beautiful, simply beautiful. A journey and experience we all must make in some form, suffering anxiety and helplessness, feeling inadequate in that we cannot do anything except be there. And in that lies the truth of it. Be there; hold hands, pass tissues, assist when thirsty, or hungry, ensure dignity is maintained as much as possible. Share memories, laughter, music, readings. Sit quietly and share these moments. Be there. It’s all, and the best, that we can do.

Blessings, Love and big hugs.

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5 hours ago, RevSimon said:

Beautiful, simply beautiful. A journey and experience we all must make in some form, suffering anxiety and helplessness, feeling inadequate in that we cannot do anything except be there. And in that lies the truth of it. Be there; hold hands, pass tissues, assist when thirsty, or hungry, ensure dignity is maintained as much as possible. Share memories, laughter, music, readings. Sit quietly and share these moments. Be there. It’s all, and the best, that we can do.

Blessings, Love and big hugs.

Thank you. Your hugs and blessings are deeply appreciated. Even though those days are a few years past, the memories are still fresh. 

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