This Man, this Massive Mound of Flesh, Said to Come and Say Goodbye Before I Left & Years Before He was Born, When the Time Came for Another to Leave, for Us to Say Goodbye, I held Him Gently and Close

***

… he said to come and say goodbye

before I left.

I knocked softly twice and opened the door.

The morning was still dark,

and in the dim light, I did not see him, 

just a large mound in the middle of the bed,

the blankets covering him completely.

I said his name. I said I’m leaving.

I said I came to say goodbye.

He stirred.

And a massive amount of flesh emerged,

for my first little grandson was now himself,

a massive man.

He never wore a shirt to bed,

something I would never do

for I, always since a boy,

wanted my window open,

even if just an inch,

for fresh air, yes, but even more,

to hear the outside

– whatever the outside may be –

but never I wanted cool air

upon my skin,

for that made me feel naked,

without defense.

And so this boy, now a big well-built man

– he worked at it –

sat up and extended his arms to me,

a handsome man, dark stubble upon his face.

I leaned over and we briefly hugged,

my right hand upon his unclothed back

 – first time in a long time –

touching the radiating warmth

of his living flesh.

A warmth, seemingly still lingering upon my hand

hours later,

a warmth imparted,

yes, in just a random moment,

a fleeting touch within time.

In memory and experience, yes, but now

– though to it I could not scientifically swear –

a warmth always upon my hand

from a man huge to me,

who as a boy, did not want just a hug,

but wanted me to hold him for a time,

which was surprising, but more than fine with me.

For then him I could kiss

as much as I wanted,

this young, so deeply loved, needy grandson of mine,

this now massive man.

I said we were leaving soon.

His younger brother, also big, with facial hair

– light brown moustache and somewhat of a goatee –

coming with me to LA to visit for a week.

His grandma, over delighted,

lovingly mapping out and calendaring

every Krispy Kreme and In-N-Out Burger stop,

the heaven-sent manna

of this grandson’s body, mind and soul.

My grandson in the dim light then said,

“Have a safe flight.”

And as he turned to pull the covers over

his bare chest to return to sleep, he added,

“Love you grandpa”,

as he always said when we parted

or finished a cell-phone call

– calls he initiated when driving somewhere,

or from home to college or college to home.

His “I love you, grandpa”

I have always known

as something you cannot buy,

which I always said,

when telling other men, friends and others,

of this grandson,

the men, many wide eyed, amazed,

 and sometimes saddened,

– I could see it in their eyes –

all knowing this to be true

– something one could never buy –

especially from a massive man

with dark stubble upon his handsome face.

And years before all my grandchildren had breath,

my son was born,

and he would have a life of his own by now,

perhaps married with children of his own –

if he had lived.

But with many birth defects,

he did not.

My little boy

– my brave little boy –

struggling for six hours to live.

And with all the medical tests and evaluations,

it became an imperative, deeply overriding everything else,

for me to kiss him,

so that he would know a father’s touch,

something more, something different,

than just the clinical prodding and poking of technicians.

And kiss him, I did,

my lips for a moment playing and lingering upon his forehead,

the spirit of his father imparting to his a first awareness of the mystery of love,

which seemed to calm him,

my so brave little boy.

And when the time came for him to leave,

for us to say goodbye,

I held him gently and close and felt his final movements

as he left, as he was taken, as he flew away.

The doctor and nurse came to take him,

but I asked them if,

I told them I wanted,

to still have him with us

for a little while longer.

And I held him gently.

For he was now quiet,

no longer moving, no longer flying away.

And I remember that time

his final movements,

how he stopped,

and how I lingered in holding him.

These are moments I have told so very few.

Things that are more than things,

moments that can never be taken from me.

The warmth of the flesh of my massive grandson,

lingering upon my hand,

the final movements of my little so brave son.

Two things I will always feel,

two moments I will always have

till my own flesh grows cold,

and I sigh and smile and whisper goodbye.

For these are of the things and moments that have formed me,

moments that are embedded and deeply intertwined in the DNA of my soul.

Reasons why I breathe, reasons why I live, reasons why I write.

***

To view all posts in Poetry, Somewhat, please use the link below.

Poetry, Somewhat – Writing In The Shade Of Trees

Please use the link below to view the posting most directly dealing with the death of Jarrett, Our Infant Son.

Echoes of the Death of Jarrett, Our Infant Son – Writing In The Shade Of Trees

Please use the link below to view all the Family Non-Fiction postings.

Family Non-Fiction – Writing In The Shade Of Trees