Asparagus Soup
She lay in the strange bed,
lines in her arm,
tubes in her nose,
knowing she’d never go home,
and by now not even wanting to.
An independent woman,
relying on others was never on her table.
I fed her asparagus soup,
her last meal,
slowly,
spoon
by
spoon,
listening to the slight slurp as her
thin, dry lips
struggled to pull it in.
Afterwards,
I held her
thin, dry hand
as her breaths grew
slow,
and
slower still,
and wondered,
just how slow
a breath could go
before stopping altogether.
I didn’t know she liked asparagus soup
enough to select it as her last
off the hospital menu.
I didn’t know she liked it at all.
©2021 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved
Guess its all about living to the last breath with thanksgiving for life and sharing
ReplyDeleteVery beautiful and stirring.
Happy Sunday
Much💛love
She did that, then told me she was done. I'm glad her doctors listened to her, and could do what she wanted.
DeleteA very poignant poem. Makes me tear up as my mum is in hospital atm
ReplyDeleteOh, I do hope she will be out soon!
DeleteI have sat by a number of friends and relatives dying in hospital. It is not a happy occasion but one I have never regretted having held their hands for the last time.
ReplyDeleteIt wasn't easy, but I wanted her to know I was still there.
DeleteTouching. My brother's last meal was hospital ice cream goop and I helped him eat it. I always regret that he asked for more and there was still a little left but I didn't give it to him thinking all that sugar wouldn't be good! I didn't know it would be his last meal I learned a lot from that.
ReplyDeleteI understand that regret. On the Thanksgiving before my mother died, I brought all the food to her house, and she asked for "those little onions." I don't ever remember "little onions" at Thanksgiving, and we always had the same menu each year. So, when I saw jars of pickled onion, tiny onions, "little onions," when I was getting the green olives stuffed with almonds (always those!) I thought I'd found them! No, afterwards she told me it was creamed onions. Creamed onions? I didn't know there were such things, and we had NEVER had them! I still feel bad about her not getting them at her last Thanksgiving.
DeleteSuch a tender write. The feeding of soup is a poignant act and the slowing of breath --just beautifully written
ReplyDeleteThank you.
DeleteWhat a treasured memory, those last moments. It is good to say goodbye with no words left unsaid ... and asparagus soup too, of course!
ReplyDeleteI am not sure there were no words left unsaid, but none that would have mattered by then.
DeleteThis is beautiful ... I would imagine she loved asparagus soup as you were the person feeding her. Your poem reminds me of the hundreds of times I fed my mother ...... sigh.
ReplyDeleteThank you. She wouldn't have wanted me to feed her more than this once. I think she knew it would only be once.
DeleteThis hits my heart.
ReplyDeleteBoth thank you, and I'm sorry for that. I guess I meant it to, since it hit mine and stayed with me.
DeleteVery touching, Lisa. The asparagus soup would be easy to swallow provided it
ReplyDeletewas the consistency of tomato soup. I am sorry for you loss, a lot are grieving
this season of the pandemic. Mrs. Jim lost her sister and our daughter lost
her husband. None of the family was allowed in the hospital to tell their close
ones goodbye. We also lost Mrs. Jim's cousin, she was 100 years old and died
at home. We stayed with her for a week about a week before she died. She had
strange food requests also.
Thank you for peeking in on me and for your nice comment.
..
Yes, it was a thick comforting consistency. I am so sorry for your losses, made harder by not being able to be with your loved ones. My heart goes out to you both, especially your daughter. I lost my husband to pneumonia when he was 47.
DeleteA sad reality . Always devastating....you loved her and held her hand as she lay dying...I think this would be a comfort for her...Sorry for your loss..take care !
ReplyDeleteI think it was. Thank you.
Deletea very touching and poignant poem.
ReplyDeletethis reminds me of the times i was feeding my mother soft porridge at the hospital. yes, and those thin, dry hands...
Sometimes I look down at mine and notice the skin is thinning, but mine will never be thin, I have very fat fingers!
DeleteToughful and full of love.
ReplyDeleteThank you. I must say, "finding" you over here was a bit confusing! When there are cross-overs between blogs it's always surprising to me! YOU belong there! Not really, I'm glad you came over here!
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