[Newspoetry] Miraculous Death

[DL Emerick]

"Mom," he said, turning to me that handsome face, smiling, weakly that boyish
grin, melting his mother's heart one more, one last time. "This is not how I
wanted to die." but he did, right there and then die.

 

"How was it supposed to be?"  I thought.  ""What signal did I miss along the way
to see or to give.  Was it when he said loved honor over life, or when he said
he loved that girl who was so bad for him?  Or was it one of those countless
other times, when I was watching over him, or all the times in between?"

 

There's no answer in the sterile corridors of the death ward, while you wait for
a moment you'd rather fight and oppose with all of your being, and even die to
avoid, if it would save your child, your son.

 

Somehow, there is never a miracle, just when you most pray to God, to take any
other life, but the one that is dying, the one that was supposed to live past
you, to wait on and upon you at the end of your life.

 

God has His own way of being indifferent to man and to woman, as leaving his own
precious children to find their ways through life, for good or for evil, to live
or to die, purposively or accidentally, or any other way in which they come to
shake the hand of Death who will never let any handshake come to end.

 

"Kiss me then, one last time," were the boy's dying traces of thoughts,
discharging neurons as mind faded away from its memories.  The neurons,
dismissed like faithful servants, stopped firing then, one by one, in a general
and complete cease fire.  They sensed a white flag, a burial sheet, come
floating by, to cover the body of the man they had so faithfully served and
could serve no more.  The rest of the body relaxed, as well, as lungs and heart
had stopped pumping them up, keeping them going.

 

He was dead, the one who had been alive.  It was a miracle of death, said
someone in "Antonia's Line", but all miracles fade, as time passes them by,
covers over them, as they never were.

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