By Barbara Remmem

Because the doors lining the hallways open into room after room that look exactly alike,
drab, colorless and cold.
Because they have ugly, uncomfortable beds covered with paper thin blankets
that provide no warmth or comfort.
Because the view from the picture windows are usually that of rooftops or
over-crowded parking lots, bleak and depressing.
Because the clear plastic bag hanging upside down on a hook by the side of the bed
drips dinner slowly through a plastic tube inserted in your vein and you can’t
taste it.
Because the doctor is rarely to be found and when he is there, he doesn’t tell the truth,
but feeds false hope.
Because the nurses poke you and prod you and make you cry.
Because you are my mother and you don’t belong here. I need you at home.
There are things a 16-year-old still needs to learn from her mother.
Because it is the last place we will spend together…and I didn’t know.
Because it is here we last locked our eyes together and with my mind I told you it
was okay to give up the fight…that I would be alright and you needn’t worry.
Because it is here you believed my lie and left me… broken-hearted.
Because it’s the last place I saw you, Grandma, Aunty, Uncle, Dad and my best friend,
Bobbie Jo.
Because a half a century has passed and the doors lining the hallways still open
into room after room that look exactly alike, drab, colorless and cold.