Back to blog
The last to touch him
Share your work with family and friends!

I was the last to touch him, to touch him with love, with a gentle touch on his chest, as I bent over to kiss his forehead, hold his face in my hands on last time. He looked like he was asleep, his own sort of Sleeping Beauty, and I thought, if only I could warm up my hands enough, I could maybe bring him back to life. A naive thought. He slipped away so fast, so unexpectedly. No one really understands it when I say, I never thought he would pass away that night. That’s why I stuffed so much in my overnight bag, the little black suitcase I wheeled into the corner of the room. I had meant to be next to him all night but his brother feel asleep in the cushy chair and I didn’t have the heart to wake him. I went outside to just sleep for a bit. I was so cold, so tired. Just fifteen minutes I thought and feel asleep shivering on the hard plastic couches outside of the room. I awoke with a start, as if summoned and went back into the room. The room by this time was full of light, so bright I didn’t know what to do. But I did know that there was no way to protest whatever this was that filled the room, the light, the air, the sacredness. I touched his chest again, held his hand, told him how much he is loved, told him, of course you go. I don’t know where all of this came from. Something in me was speaking, leading the way. The wise part in me knew, took over, made space. And we watched him exhale his last breath. I felt his life leaving his body, shedding its skin, the hard shell that had become so worn out, so hard to live in, and felt his spirit rise up out of him and unfurl with unparalleled relief and beauty. We sat in wonder, his brother and I, with the nurse nearby. Then, too, I was the last to touch him, remember trying to imprint the feel of his skin, his chest beneath my finger tips. I thought that would be the last time till the real last time came during his cremation. He still looked so good, so fresh, not even that cold to the touch, just cool. Soft skin still the same, the outline of his cheek, his nose. So familiar to me, so well known. I still remember every inch of him, the softness of his skin, his rough spots. What I would do to touch him again, to see him stir next to me early in the morning to reach out to him every day and be the first and the last to touch him.


This is beautiful Erika!

Leave your comment...