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.
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