Hospital Song
Apr 5th, 2016 by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
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They need to run more tests but Dad pleads, “I want to go home.” This man who built houses can’t stand by himself to pee.
I sit two hours with him daily, passing my sisters or brother in the hall on either end of the visit. We touch hands, squeeze.
A curled little old man under layers of cabinet-warmed blankets, he’s shaking, all ice-blue eyes and Viking-white beard under sunken cheeks.
Television is election chaos. No help there. I realize what’s on my iPad, close his door, crank its volume: Dad and Bob Dylan, gravel-throated friends, a hospital bed duet.
From Guest Contributor Tjorven
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