Wednesday Guest's Post "Poetry Speaks" By Jayson Sanderson
October is the month where my state of thankfulness is heighten. It is the month in which I am reminded of what could’ve been, how my life today could’ve been drastically different. It is the month where my sense of gratefulness intensify as my heart has no room for complaint…
October will always be a reminder of THE altering moment of my life.
This month, this week I am THANKFUL, GRATEFUL and feeling BLESSED more than ever before because HE, by taking control of my life when I was at my lowest, in that moment has shown us how mercy looks.
Today as I sat here, my mind is transported back to October 10th 2011 when with family and friends we gathered to celebrate in style The Hubby’s 40th birthday and how less than 24 hours later the rug was pulled off our feet.
On that day, The Hubby clinically died…
On that day, the hours, and days that followed, I undoubtedly learned the greatest lesson of all which is that invaluable gifts are bestowed to us during our deepest struggles…
On that day I realized that each and every aspects of my/our life is a piece of a gigantic puzzle, which I won't be able to complete if even just a part of it missing.
On days when my pieces are scattered – God knows it happens more often than none – and on days when I need to remember that I am God’s child and that being alive means that things will get broken; on those days, I learned that God will entertain my bargaining with him for his grace… Grace is a subtle whisper. Sometimes we don’t hear it unless we close our eyes and bow our head and sometimes it requires open eyes which the sight of its truth could shatter our hearts. From that year on, The Hubby’s birthday has taken a different signification, a deeper signification.
I have written about this brutal moment in our life for the first time in 2012, which I will share back tomorrow as my #TBT post. In 2016 my son gave me an “Interview Poem” which he wrote after asking me questions about the event. I stumbled upon his writing a few days ago and decided to make it my guest post of this week…
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Jayson Sanderson 10/14/16
Poetry Speaks Interview Poem
On October 11th, 2011, the day after my dad’s birthday, my father had clinically passed away. The cause of his temporary passing was asthma. The night before he had eaten some egg foo young before bed and the dish, being oily had blocked up his airways during his sleep. This induced the most serious asthma he’s had to date as his body convulsed and he could barely speak gasping for air at two in the morning. He went to the bathroom to do his typical protocol when he has an asthma attack (steaming the bathroom, taking his inhaler, stripping down), but no results came about. He was able to get one word out before he passed out and that was the name of my mother, Rose.
She laid him on the floor and began CPR to resuscitate the heart that had stopped beating. Simultaneously she called the paramedics who came after 3 minutes or so with two ambulances and two fire trucks. It took them over 30 minutes to stabilize my father before they were able to bring him to the hospital. He woke after 3 days of induced coma and was allowed to leave on October 16th.
This is a very emotionally charged poem as the situation may express. With that being said it was the main focus of my writing. Within some parts I especially wanted to present this idea, the hysterical state of woman trying to save the father of her children. The very stagnant and repetitive diction of the operator. These were elements I tried to encompass with the descriptive language of the poem.
Also the formatting of the poem may need explaining as well…
- The far left is everything that pertains to the action or speech that has to do with my father.
- Everything in the mid-left pertains to the action or speech that has to do with my mother.
- Lastly, the right has to do with those outside of the action.
One last thing that also may need to be explained is the usage of the word “Rose” The first time “Rose” is used was my father’s words. Every other time is the word replaying in my mother’s mind as the event progresses.
Whenever something like this happens, I look toward God…
I.
Rose–
faintly slithered into my ear as I jolted
up from my sleep to the source
of my fears.
Rose…
He stares past me with a lack of focus
as a shortage breath makes his inhale
increasingly weak.
Call the doctor…
Rose…
The words spill, rattling without direction.
I dash towards the house phone.
I mash the numbers in: 9-1––
Crash.
Rose…
SAN… I called as he lay sprawled across the floor.
No movement–face-down–non responsive.
I flipped him over and checked for a pulse.
Hello, what is your emergency?
I feel his being fade with each heartbeat…
Hello, what is going on?
The tears are streaming, and the screams well up.
Flatline.
II.
Rose…
He’s not breathing what do I do?
Okay ma’am stay with me here, do you know CPR?
He’s not BREATHING what do I do!?!
I know you’re stressed, start pumping on his chest
as hard as you can.
Pump. Pump. Pump.
I push and push and push,
as my eyelids repress the tears dripping
onto his shell.
Pump. Pump. Pum–
Rose…
We’re sending ambulances to your location.
You won’t find me, I’m going to turn
on the front light and open the door.
We’ll find you, stay with your husband,
keep compressing his chest.
You won’t find me! Everyone passes over our house you won’t find us!
We’ll find you, stay with your husband,
keep compressing his–
She doesn’t know
what she’s talking about.
I left for a moment to sprint to the front.
Turn on the light. Open the door. Pump. Pump.
Ba-dum.
Everyone praises the Rose
that grew from the concrete,
Yet no one has the nerve
to question where my petals came from.
~J. Sanderson
