You had end stage ovarian cancer.
Your surgery was a success, they told you
So why could you not get out of bed?
Your blood pressure would drop
Your body would go weak, drained of life
You just wanted to go home.
You asked us to take you outside, so we did.
Your face lit up when you saw the flowers
You taught us when the carnations bloom
You wanted a photo and insisted we be in it
You shared with us a fleeting moment of life.
You became quiet back on the hospital floor
You looked at us, and you paused,
Then said,
“I wouldn’t wish this on any of you.”
You may not remember me
But I remember your carnations.
