LAST OF THE LINE

The name was given three times, to his grandfather and father before him

Long shadows cast, in all directions.

A name given three times

Nothing so heavy as the weight of expectations

In the town that he will never leave for it

Or in spite of it.

A long year, or was it years

In deferral of death

A diagnosis

The day the end starts

Driving to doctors

Tests, more tests

Name called off a clipboard by nurses in blue scrubs

“No, not me. My father.”

Death came to be the unwanted friend, hanging around

Every holiday

Every family meal, trips to the shore

Anxious, whispering, “This might be the last time you ever have this.”

Tests, more tests

Details

Doctors

All must be dealt with.

A long year, or was it years

They all needed him

The last of the line

The smell of the hospital

Familiar as home

The last of the line

Would make sure

He would not let them down

Not this time.

There was the day

He stared at the red bricks of the building before going in

People swirling around him

Bringing big bouquets of bright flowers

Tight-faced orderlies pushing wheelchairs

A gray-haired woman, bent, impossibly slow with her walker

A new baby sleeping in a car seat, ready to go home

The day he knew there was nothing more to research

No more calls to make

No hope of delay, distraction

And the urge to run away and keep on running

Or fall to his knees in tears and grief

Was nearly blinding him.

But the doors whirred open

The moment chosen, frozen

He took a breath, his air laced with another visitor’s last-minute smoke

And stepped inside.