And the winds just howls.

There’s a chill in the air.  A frisson, a frenzy.  A tension that creeps up through your muscles until you are poised to strike at nothing there.  And the wind just howls.  There’s a drop of rain on my window.  Another, then another, like arrhythmic drums, until they blur into the white noise of a car radio between towns, between lives.  And still the wind just howls.  There’s an emptiness on the street.  Everyone retreated to safety, to warmth and comfort and psychological fortress of a locked door and curtains closed.  And the wind just keeps howling.  There’s a glint in my eye.  I worry about windows not quite closed, about a house just old enough to be a question.  I feel a feral anticipation towards the crashing and the clashing and the raucous joy of the elements.  And the wind howls and howls and howls.

Gone.

I didn’t know you.

You were a name and an illness and a family.

And then you were gone.

But still,

     I’ll never forget you,

  now-dead man.

I met you at the beginning of the week

We followed the round

The ward was a sad place, but not the worst

The doctors were cheerful, even if their humour was black

The nurses were kind, even if they were tired

And the patients, your companions, seemed as positive as anywhere

Some were confused

Some were in pain

Some were looking forward to leaving

     But you were never really awake, in your room to the side, quiet but never quite peaceful

The doctors told me your systems were failing

To fix one would too much damage another

I could see the frustration, and the resignation behind their eyes

All their experience

All their knowledge

And nothing they could do.

The rest of the week, I saw patients come and go

To nursing homes, to family, to other departments, to other hospitals

You were one of the constant few

At one point we discussed care pathways

An “end of life” plan sounds nicer than any to do with death

As though this life just happened to be coming to an end

Maybe if I believed in some sort of heaven and hell

Or in rebirth

Or in something, anything, that made death less final

Then the phrase “end of life” would offer a small comfort

As it is, I hold no such convictions

I didn’t truly believe this only to be a step on a longer journey.

Your doctors had said you had a couple of weeks left,

but still,

it shouldn’t have been such a shock.

my colleague found you,

Quiet.

Still.

Gone.

My heart goes to him.  I cannot imagine his shock, his sadness.

Because you had gone quietly into that dark night

We’d heard no raging, no final fight

Maybe that was your character

Maybe that was your disease

Were you prone to lie there and take it?

Or were you fighting, we just couldn’t see?

We saw you certified dead

Passed on.

Gone.

It was the first time I’d seen it done.

I should have been learning, taking notes.

But all the while I just marvelled at how you seemed just asleep

So much more peaceful than before

I had an abstract hope that you would just wake up, that it had all been a mistake

But I knew that it was nonsense.

Your heart stopped, never again to speed up at the sight of a lover

Your eyes stayed closed, never again would you blink at the brightness of a new day

You did not cry out in pain, to the horrible things doctors must do to be sure.

You were beyond that now.

And, with a signature on a form, it was official.  You were no more.

The next day, the last that I was there, was like any other

I smiled at the woman heading into the room where you were before

She had hope and pain and fear and trust in her eyes.

And so we go on.