the waiting

when i think of you, dad
i think of emily dickinson,
'because i would not stop for death'
and then i think of the waiting

i try not to think of the waiting
its bad luck i tell myself
you'll make it happen
thinking of it makes it grow, 
it blooms
spreading out
and filling up all the spaces
like melancholia
and heartache
the waiting can take over happiness
and life
it can consume me

but the waiting cannot stop it
life bursts
expands
like a ripe fruit
whose skin is ready to split
bruised
but whole

i think of you both
and the cliches roll in
like waves
the two of you in a sunlit photo
your faces flash white
smiles broad
sheltered in each others' arms
the waiting has not stopped you

i'm almost the age
when death first tried to take you from us
in a hospital bed tied up with tubes
you whispered to my mother that you wanted to see  me grow
and here i am

grown

i remember the door
with the special buzzer you must press to gain entrance
when little i could not see up to it
now i've pressed it many times
been ushered through
sat beside you
your skin ashen
your breathing laboured
and then suddenly
a change
and
laughter

a hospital corridor
a window that leads to the sea
'its not a bad view' you say
you walk down the corridor
your gown tied around your back
your legs white encased in stockings
they lead you away from me
and then later you say
'every day you wake up is a good day'
the waiting has not taken us yet

we sit on a train and wind our way to the city
the specialist shakes his head and says its too risky
better to take our chances with life
and keep on living
outrun the waiting

i watch my friends
the waiting has stopped for them
their parents
gone
sometimes too quickly
i stand behind them in churches
they are hollowed out with grief
with loss

instead i have you both
and the waiting lurks in the background

i ring you each day
same time
same place
same words
i love you

if you don't answer
i panic
i know what this means
i get in my car
i drive home
i brace myself for the body blow
it does not come
the waiting still lurks
silent
and brooding

you fooled us once,
twice,
three times,
more
they called me
'i've got your mum on the phone'
is this it?
her voice
small
and tight
spinning down the line
you were still there

hearts pump, then cease
arteries flow, then clog
lungs bloom, then fade
cancer invades, then breeds
you outwait them all

her breath catches 
she holds your hand
racking sobs that no-one else sees
she counts off days, years, memories
for my mother there are three
you, her and the waiting

i am greedy
i want you both
for myself
and so
in the night i think of the waiting

in the day though
there's nothing but sunshine
ripe fruit
with small bruises