TALKING TO A SLEEPING MAN
Kermit B. Marsh, April 2010
The last time I saw my father alive we talked. Our conversations had
become increasingly incoherent as time went by. This one was no different. We
talked... and then he was tired. I helped him to his bed, and he went to
I sat in silence for an hour while he slept. Then I kissed his forehead
and bade him good-bye. I walked away from the nursing home where he had spent
the last eight years.
The next time I saw my father he was laid out in his coffin. We brought
him to the grave yard to lay his weary bones to rest.
In that last hour I listened to the quiet sounds, the quiet voice within.
There are remembrances of conversations past. Conversations with this son
of Mother Earth... this problem solver, this man who liked to make things
I remember a generation earlier...