The Day My Husband Passed

At six thirty in the morning,

the nurse’s call wakes me.

Relieved but unable to drive,

I call my father—he agrees to take me.


This is it—I’m a widow–why so soon?

He just turned seventy.

We were married only seven years.

I took care of him for six.

He wanted to make it ten.


Driving through the streets,

I see, hear, feel nothing.

When we arrive, I hurry to his room,

to his bedside where he lies,

swathed from head to toe.


I uncover his face,

eyes, mouth closed,

body at peace,

kiss his brow,

bury my face in his hair,

hold him, tell him I love him,

pack his belongings, leave,

my life having turned another corner.




To hear me read this poem, go to .




Three years ago today, my husband Bill died after a month in a nursing home when I could no longer care for him. We would have been married ten years last month. Happy Death Day, sweetheart.



Abbie J. Taylor 010Author Abbie Johnson Taylor

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That’s Life: New and Selected Poems

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