There Will Always Be an Echo – A Poem

In the dream,

I am sitting with a nurse.

We are in a waiting room,

and everything is terribly bright.

She holds my hands.

I can feel their warmth,

and I know that I am cold.

When she looks at me,

I can see the wisdom in a face that looks far too young.

Her voice is like music when she speaks.

“I love my job. I help people to die.”

I nod,

knowing this already.

“It’s already begun,”

I tell her,

whispering the words as if they are a secret.

She nods and pats my hand.

“It’s okay to let go,”

she says.

“Even if its painful. That’s why I’m here, to help you.”

I nod my head again,

agreeing with her as if I understand what is about to happen.

“Will it hurt a lot?”

I’m sure she is asked this question all the time.

Even so,

I’ve been told that it will hurt a little.

Letting go of what you no longer need,

who I was that needed to survive instead of live.

I need to let him go,

I’ve been holding on to him for too long.

Trying to loosen my grasp of who I was is bound to hurt a little.

She smiled and gave my hand a squeeze,

then reached up to grasp a shoulder.

“It always hurts when we let a piece of ourselves go.”

I let out a small sigh, and she lets out a laugh.

“You were hoping that there would be no pain, and there isn’t. Not right away. That comes after, when your old self goes looking for what it’s missing.”

Flipping over my palm,

she traces a finger along my lifeline.

There are so many small veins that cross it,

each one of them holding a possibility.

“The person you were before you let go will still be looking for what you let go of. Does that make sense? There are so many facets to who you are that one is bound to miss the other from time to time.”

I nod,

understanding her meaning.

There will always be an echo.  

“Are you ready?”

She asks.

I nod.

“I am ready,”

I tell her and I’m surprised to find that I mean it.

“Then let us begin.”

She says.