He was a retired physician
Well respected I am told
A GP from the days when doctors really knew their patients
Strapped into a geriatric chair at Hillsdale Nursing Home
His grey hair in cloud-like wisps
Bound in blue plaid restraints
His gown barely covering his scrotum
Without visitors I was told
Like so many others
Calling out in scratchy voice–
"Death is my friend, my friend
"Where is my friend?
Then fall asleep again, then wake up
A constant maddening refrain known to all
He said nothing else—
"Death is my friend, my friend
"Where is my friend?
Everyone ignored him
They squirmed when he called out
The staff tried to quiet him
Other patients and families gasped
I walked past him quickly
Opened one eye just enough
He saw my stethoscope around my neck
Beckoned me with a bony finger
"Come here, come here" in a dry raspy voice
"I need to tell you….,
" very important, very important
Nurse Jackson was shocked to hear him speaking at all
"Come here, come over here and listen to me"
He said nothing but had my fingers in a bony grip
"I know you" he squinted deeply
I leaned in, hesitating
" I was wrong" he croaked barely audible
His face changed, he looked off into space
" All those years
"I was wrong
I tried pulling away, he tugged harder
"I was like you, once
"I thought I knew……"
" Look at me!! He rasped loudly
His grey eyes were red/clear and large
"All those years….." He drifted but returned
" I thought death, the enemy, like you do but…
He drifted off again then grabbed my hand hard
"Time will come
"You will know……
" Now I know–death is my friend
" Where is my friend…….Where is he?
" Is he here yet?………