Come Closer

We teach science here . . . not  feelings, he said

We do not engage the dying . . .

Arm yourself well young lady

We teach science here . . . not feelings

Stay distant . . .

Searching for meaning

Looking beyond self . . . with some  degree of quietness

I reflect upon those words

Thoughts of dying reverberate somewhere  deep within my consciousness

Dying and death . . . pain and suffering . . . surrender and fight

All consuming . . .

Why can't I help?

Are we true strangers . . . is death a strange season?

Listen people . . . listen carefully

Listen lest you become a stranger

Come closer . . .

do not tread more lightly

do not whisper empty platitudes

engage the dying

shackle the impotence of your emotions

Death . . .

Reciprocal reflections branch out like tentacles

Rituals abound

Transcend your scientific posture

Breakdown the frameworks of your personal boundaries

Come closer . . .

A kaleidoscope of feelings stands in the shadows . . .

New patterns emerge

Revitalizing . . . Not death denying

Rejuvenating . . . not recoiling

Liberating us from the fingers of  science . . .

Is death the enemy . . . the stranger?

Or have we anointed death with this  strange title

Come closer . . .

They said there was nothing to do

Even as I stood at his bedside . . .

he looked so terrified

his face racked with pain

I patted him on the shoulder

I said something inane . . .

We teach science here young doctor

Stay distant

As the dawn of day settles over the room . . . as he lay dying

 . . . in a room filled with starched white aprons

 . . . in a room of seeming strangers

I hold his shaking hand . . .

I see the lines smooth over his face

I see his body relax

I hear the whisper in the morning air

You can do something young doctor

Come closer . . . come closer . . .  there are no strangers here

June Marcia McKoy, M.D., M.P.H., J.D.

Class of 1989