BEHIND THE DOOR | Suzanne Travis
We wrap them with reverence. Speaking in low, hushed tones,
As if they still hear us. We touch them gently.
We shield them from nakedness, covering private parts discreetly.
We warm the water, when bathing bodies, already cold.
We close their eyelids. Looking asleep.No longer staring frozen
Into nothingness. We held their hands in our blue-gloved ones,
Remembering them before they were mottled blue.
We knew them before they were forever silent, when they shared
Secrets and asked questions we could not answer. The unsaid things.
We listened. And listened some more.
Behind the door, we prepare the bodies. Outside the door, we prepare
The families. We take out the tubes, saying we’re sorry, out of habit.
We remove the IVs, the commodes, the walkers, the morphine pumps.
We tell the loved ones to come in now. We’re right here if they need us.
We wish we had more time, to call the organ donation center, the mortuary,
The priest, the rabbi, the social worker, the friends and the neighbor to
feed the dog.
We call a Lyft and watch them leave. We enter the room with the leftover
Flowers, and the banner on the wall, saying “You Can Beat This!”
We place the toe tag and zip the body bag and say goodbye.
“Soft belly, strong back,” says a guru at a nursing retreat.
They say not to cry.
We cry anyway.
Suzanne Travis lives in Los Angeles with her husband and four rescue dogs. She is semi-retired after working for over twenty years in oncology nursing. She continues her love of working with patients as an infusion specialist in a clinic and at patient's homes. As a former stand-up comic, she found humor to be therapeutic with her patients. During her free time, she pursues her passion for writing and hiking in her neighborhood canyon.