The Last Minute

In the end it was quiet

There were no more jigsaw puzzle pieces to put together.

No more crosswords to fill in,

No longer a television to turn up when the surrounding chatter grew too loud,

Or blankets to request in a lukewarm room for uncirculated feet.

No more mugs full of water sitting atop the cranky old radiator

Or mangey old pillows on hard chair surfaces to make them softer.

No more junk mail piling up on the kitchen table

Or scattered shopping lists written on Sunday mornings.

No rooms full of family, bickering and laughing

Or hands coming together in hopeful prayer.

In the end it was quiet.

A bright, white, cold room.

Slow beeping on dim monitors.

A daughter’s hand placed in a mother’s.

There was not much in the room:

A bed

A TV

A whiteboard

Two chairs

And hope.

Then there was a moment.

A last breathe

An unnoticed final second as the clock ticked 2 am

And the mother’s hand goes limp

But the daughter still held on gently, asleep

Before all of the voices and machines ruined it,

In the end it was quiet.