'Your son was at a concert when he collapsed.'
The serious young doctor started the story at the beginning.
“Your son was at a concert when he collapsed.” Can I see him? “An ambulance was called. EMTs started CPR.” Where is he? “They tried to revive him, but got no reponse.” Please. . . “They brought him here. We worked a long time.” Oh God. “We didn’t want to give up. He was so young.”
I searched the doctor for sorrow, found a stoic earnestness. He ended with an apology.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, as if he’d hurt my feelings, as if I could forgive him.
This poem previously appeared in Family Medicine and is included in Emily Ferrara's collection The Alchemy of Grief.
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