When a young friend died suddenly
with no time for “goodbyes” you said to me 
we say “goodbye” every day.
It comforted me then, but not now, not yet.

That last night we kissed, said Goodnight, sweetheart,
 cookies and milk on the tray by your bed.
Looked into each other’s eyes, yours so tired.
Did we know then?

Hours later in the hospital at your bedside, 
holding your hand, caressing your face.
All of us talking to you.
No one really knows if there’s awareness, they tell us, 
but there are stories.

You weren’t alone, Ollie. We were with you. Watching 
the pulse in your neck throb, then slow, gently fade. 
You weren’t afraid of dying,
you just didn’t want to be there when it happened,
and you weren’t, but we were.