Holding hands

with my mother

fading embers in my father’s eyes

become a flicker once more.


Few words spoken

they would be superfluous.


Wordless dialogue

but heartfelt exchange

echoes through this chamber

at the threshold

of his exit door.


Fifty-four years traversing,

journeying together,


profound understandings

of complex and deep



This is life

this is death

this is love




Copyright © Henri Ferguson 2003

All rights reserved.


Author notes

During one of my father’s final days we watched as the nurses lifted him from his bed to a chair. While this was happening my father, unable to speak took a pen from the nurse’s pocket and motioned for a piece of paper. I gave him my journal. With a weathered and shaking hand he scrawled across the page “I love you”, and then pointed at my mother. A heart searing moment that precipitated these words.


Written June 22nd, 2003 Edmonton, Canada