by Mary Oliver
I know someone who kisses the way
a flower opens, but more rapidly.
Flowers are sweet. They have
short, beatific lives. They offer
much pleasure. There is
nothing in the world that can be said
Sad, isn’t it, that all they can kiss
is the air.
Yes, yes! We are the lucky ones.
I took this picture of me holding my dad's hand on the last full day of his life. He was lying in bed and often would hold out his hand to hold mine. I loved feeling the pressure of his hand on mine, the real-ness of his being there.
Two times during my vigil by his bedside that evening he raised my hand to his lips, kissed it, and said, "Love you so much." I saw this poem quoted on Facebook shortly after he'd done that and thought, "Yes, yes! I am the lucky one."