Live this day

I stretch my arm through the steel bars of his hospital bed and draw his hand out from the plaid blanket covering his increasingly emaciated body. With his consent, I wrap my fingers around his taut skinned and bony hand and begin to weave a story, a story of a life unknown to me. His eyes so often closed are open on this day, bright yet glassy, eyes which are seemingly searching the contents of my face for some sort of recognition. To my questions, he offers snippets after moments of silence. Is this futile? I wonder. Does remembering provoke pain? What is the truth? You whose diseased mind has dispossessed you of your memories, the date you were born, your mother's name, how you met your wife, even your children, whose smiling images sit posed upon your nightstand. Did you actually play the violin? Or have a brother named Al? Were you in the army? It is sobering and disconcerting how few clues to your life surround me in that space. Perhaps one day, when I have read your obituary, there will be answers to the questions riddling my mind. But at this moment, answers are not what matter, for together we sit, the hand of your habitual Sunday stranger clasped in your own, listening to Beethoven, Smetna, Dorsey, reading Berry, Oliver, and the poetry of the psalmists. I kiss your forehead before I leave and pray, and I recognize the bitterness under my lips, that of a body moving from life to death.

Then to you, beautiful boy just turned nine, crack your knuckles, wear those white t-shirts, spit profusely, sing with gusto, rock 'em "Gangnam style," cling to your blanket and Baby Owen, and by all means request to crawl up into the lap of your mother. May God grant to you a long and prosperous life. While, God willing, I will not be at your side as you lay dying, I pray that someone will sit quietly with you, holding your hand, whispering that you are loved. May you live, darling son, truly live, and grow to be full of courage, and wisdom, remembering that it is the poor who are blessed, the gentle ones who will inherit the earth, the peacemakers who will be God's children, the merciful who will be shown mercy, the pure in heart who will see God.