~ Dignity

One of the poems I wrote during my year residency as a hospital chaplain.

~ Dignity
They wanted him to be dressed
in his own clothes—
dignity for cremation
after the indignity of cancer
and its remedies.
The nurse and I on one side of the bed,
wife and daughters on the other,
we were hesitant at first.
But the weight and awkwardness
of the task soon had us
working as a fumbling team—
three to roll him to one side,
one to pull the shirt around,
many hands to work the sleeves
over the elbows,
a finger pointing out
buttons missed.
One daughter drew away,
backed onto a chair.
Inexplicably his body was still warm—
perhaps the blankets held the heat?
More like a deep sleep, it seemed,
as we maneuvered dress shirt,
cardigan, slacks with belt.
(Belt, I wondered? Dignity. Dignity.)

He had been a respected teacher in China.
They would take his ashes home.
He had been so brave this year,
never complaining.
I wiggled the right shoe over his heel,
tugged the tongue into place,
tied the laces into a secure bow
as I did so many times for our children.
I wiggled the left shoe snug
and the daughter rose from her chair,
her hands replacing mine
to tie her father’s shoe.
I had never witnessed a gesture
so holy.
I knew it was impossible
but when we looked at him,
our work done,
his face had more peace.
We all saw it.
Our amateur efforts of love
had turned the tiny room
into a sacred chamber,
a seemingly futile act—
ashes to ashes, after all—
becoming an alchemy of spirit
that allowed the weeping women
to walk slowly down the hospital hallway,
elbows entwined,
without looking back.