Family Meeting

I.

He strutted and postured
with a smug smirk on his face.
He was, after all, the only son.
A heady, nauseating mix
of pity and revulsion
with more than a dash of mirrored superiority
hits me in the gut, shooting out
with tingling ice
into my brain and limbs.

His grin said he knew all he needed to know,
and his eyes were shut tight
so he couldn't see all he didn't know.

Filial piety is blind to futility.


II.

"I can't give her more than I gave my mother."
But he's switched the tenses--
his mother is the one still here, still suffering,
still clinging with a thready grasp onto life.

He lives on a stage born of two places:
overwhelming guilt crashes like ocean waves
against a childish urge to throw up his hands
and abnegate responsibility.
I wonder how often he has had to face the fact
that sometimes, he is the responsible one.

He talks of another man for whom he is guardian,
whose wife is clinging to him
but who, he thinks, should be let go.

I want to laugh at the irony.


III.

His face slips a little bit
when he asks what DNR means.
The only son cannot imagine life
without his mother.

But still he signs.

Anger and resentment enter remission.
Pity remains.