In that instant <br />when the pressure of blood <br />leaking from a worn-out vein <br />reached critical mass <br />and began shutting down <br />brain cells by the millions; <br />in that instant <br />when he realized <br />the last thing he would ever know, <br />my grandfather <br />called out for his daughter. <br /> <br />Being a nurse <br />of some considerable experience <br />she immediately determined <br />that he was in fact as dead <br />as he would ever be. <br />So she called the ambulance <br />and rode with his body <br />to the hospital. <br /> <br />My grandmother <br />relayed the news <br />that he was bad, very bad indeed; <br />but there was a chance <br />they might help him at the hospital. <br /> <br />I could not find the words to tell her <br />they would never revive him; <br />the trip to the hospital <br />was a consideration, <br />arranged so he'd be declared dead there <br />rather than at home <br />and she would be spared <br />the further pain of an autopsy. <br /> <br />(c) 1992<br /><br />Lynn Cohen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/final-arrangements/
