Tony Ramsay

LAST NIGHT TOGETHER

Last Night Together

Tuesday was my night on the rota.
It turned out to be our last night together,
alone, in that small side-room on ward three.
In a few short weeks your health and body had rapidly
deteriorated. You were restless and agitated, needing
to be sick, often. No comfort for you in the silence.
No softness for you from pristine, starched,
white cotton bed sheets.
"I need my clothes. I need my clothes"
you said, sitting bolt upright in the bed.
"I need my clothes now. I need to go."
I moved forward to reassure you as you peeled
back bedclothes from your fragile frame. "I need to go."
As quickly as you had sat up, you returned to the pillows,
and closing your eyes, made a slow whistling sound, gesturing
with your right hand, an ascending twirling motion, up and toward
the ceiling. And off you went into a deep and restful sleep.
Ease entered the room, filled the air with silence.
Ten minutes later: "I need my clothes. I need my clothes.
I need to go. I need to go now." Again I moved to reassure you.
Again you closed your eyes. Again that whistling sound and gesture.
Again, restful sleep and ease, and ten minutes later again, a third time
you rose, needing clothes, needing to leave, needing that ritual.
"There, did you see. That's another one gone," you said twice.
Not knowing what else to do, not needing the answer,
I finally asked the question; "John. Where are you going?"
Softness erased the pain from your face as you turned
to look at me, and in a matter-of-fact tone, replied,
"To the place where the new babies are born."
With silent ease you returned to sleep
and in time, to the restless
struggle with pain.
Within days you died –
Matthew, just two weeks later,
and Tom, sixteen days after that.

Not needing the answer, I asked the question,
"John. Where are you going?"

"To the place where the new babies are born,"
came your reply.

As explanation and description of what happens next
John, for now, this will do.

Tony Ramsay lives in Derry, Northern Ireland. His poetry has been published in anthologies Affairs of the Heart and Harrowing of the Heart: The Poetry of Bloody Sunday. A carpenter/joiner by trade, he re-trained, and currently works as a social worker for children and adults with learning/physical disability.