Waiting
I remember pushing
my father around the ward.
Two weeks we had together.
He sat in his wheel chair
and I wheeled him
up and down.
“Cancer, ” they told me.
“But it’s kinder not to let him know.”
In those days, it was better to die,
without knowing why.
Did I betray him by not letting
him know what I now need to know?
One day, he begged for help
and I lifted him onto the toilet.
He strained and strained
but couldn’t go.
“Son,” he said, sitting there.
“Will you rub my back?”
How could I say no?
That strong man,
the man who had carried me
on his back,
and me standing there,
watching him,
trousers around his knees,
straining, hopelessly,
and me bent over him,
rubbing his back,
waiting,
for him to go.
Click here for Roger’s reading of
Waiting.
rogermoorepoet 
This is my own story so closely related
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Alas, there are so many of us who have walked that road. It is rarely a pleasant one. Keep well, keep safe, and thank you for posting.
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Oh sorry this memory still lives with you and probably overshadows all the wonderful memories of your dad. Stay well friend.
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Thank you, Kelly. I guess it all resurfaced when I was diagnosed with prostate cancer, seven years ago, same as my dad, over 40 years ago. I was worried then about the ‘blanket silence’ around the condition. Treatment and knowledge have advanced so much. I look back and feel blessed. Thanks for caring.
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Live with all your heart my friend.
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