“Oh, GOD!” we cried. “Please help us with the burdens of being a man!” We have felt weighted down by our identities for too long. Our emotions have been held within inside us for too long. “How do we teach our sons to release their pain, GOD, Oh GOD?” Our sons fear their fathers. Our sons are afraid to become real men. Our sons want to become their fathers in order to take revenge against their own fathers. “Oh, GOD, help us!” We want our sons to play pianos, we wanted our sons to love their husbands, we want them to love who they are. “Oh, GOD, teach us to love our sons. Oh, GOD, teach us to hug our sons!” We want our wives to believe in us, men, again. “Oh GOD, teach us, men, how to accept ourselves!”
I know how this should be: I've seen it, you see, In soap operas, Movies. Your eyes are closed, As if in sleep. Perfect peachy skin Atop a snow white pillow Under flawlessly matched sheets. The heart monitor, Quiet bleeps. The ventilator, A steady hiss. None of that is this. Your eyes Stuck open Seeing without sight Yellow sclera Dumb tears streaming. Tubes, taped to your face Delicate skin torn Where nurses Repositioned them To feed you To heal you You never liked being told What to do. Your whole torso spasms Spastic, Every 40 seconds. A machine Forces your lungs to act. Your hands are warm From hemodialysis But don't respond When we each grab one Give it a kiss. We spend the day Brushing your hair Telling stories Singing songs. Praying prayers. You're not there. Hospital staff Are more lovely If less pretty Than on TV. When the time comes They gently walk us From the room Close the curtai...
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