It’s hard work, this love
no matter what anyone says.
—Louise Glück

•••

No one tells you that,
besides all the little things
the dying need help with,
it’s hard work tending
the one on her way,

the one who will not
give up, give in, even as
her bright light fades,
determined to go on, even as
her body has other ideas.

You’re here to focus on her,
but scenes from growing up
in this house flicker like the end
of an old film, as you sit this vigil,
keep watch by night in this season
of waiting.

You want to pray and sing and
praise. You want to be a lantern
of encouragement, as you wipe
and adjust, bring water, bring pills,
try to comfort the uncomfortable.
You tend to that which can no
longer be easily contained or
flushed or ignored.

Until, after weeks of agitation,
she falls silent. And the colors
of waiting now take on a more
muted hue.

It’s the height of indignity,
this dying after a long life,
this love, but you have said yes
to the witnessing, the tending,
this most important work,

some of the very heartest
that you—and she—
will ever do.