Edna - Poem

Journal of Family Practice, March, 2001 by Mark R. Ellis

   We sat in a sterile office
   With faceless walls, cold fixtures, shrouded table-
   I opposite you in my stiff and starched coat
   And you very much feeling the mantle of your
   years.

   "He was a great and caring man, my husband."
   You told me,
   And I smiled and nodded and fidgeted,
   Feeling young and small and very far away behind
   my professional whitewash.

   "I see that you miss him,"
   I cautiously said as I reached toward the dorsum
   Of your wrinkled hand.

   The unexpected warmth of your hand was matched
   by
   The glimmer in your spirited eye, now awakened.
   "I shall see him soon, "you said.
   You looked for permission in my eyes, then added
   "It may seem silly to say,
   But I feel I can tell you this:
   God spoke to me the other day."

   "Yes ... ?"

   "When I was low and full of fear,
   He held me for a moment
   And seemed to say `I'm here.'
   It was not a voice, really, but a feeling."
   "I understand.
   It sounds as though you needed healing."

   Your eyes crinkled and small tears formed:
   "I no longer fear death.
   Do you understand?" Your features warmed.

   The room was still,
   Silence before the sunrise.
   Then I replied
   "Once, last year, when I was walking alone in the
   chill night air,
   I felt a gentle, loving hand on my shoulder
   And I turned, but there was no one there."

   "Yes?"

   "No one there; just peace and this thought:
   `Remember that I am with you.'"
   I smiled, considering all since that this had wrought.

   "Yes," you said. "I understand."
   And you reached to me and touched my other
   hand.

All correspondence should be addressed to Mark R. Ellis, MD, MSPH, Cox Family Practice Residency, 1423 North Jefferson Avenue, Suite A1001, Springfield, MO 65802. E-mail: mellis@coxnet.org.