It Was Time Poem by Paul Schneiter

The son gathered the remnants
of his father's ninety-four years.
Faded photos, toiletries, pajamas
seen through the old man's tears.

The father had mislaid his mind,
his bright ideas now empty shells.
So it was time- time to take him
to the house of certain smells.

They saw this day as an idle trifle
when they imagined it ages ago.
"Never a nursing home, " son.
The son blithely agreed, "I know."


For five years the father had lived
with the son and his ailing wife.
But he had become a millstone-
the son's vow weighed with strife.

There were mortality-closing issues
the nursing manager couldn't forgo.
"Do you want life-prolonging steps"-
"No, " the son said, "he told me so."

The three walked to the father's room
empty in a way the son never knew.
.A bed, a dresser, a bathroom, a chair
Ninety-four years, that was his due.

The son put away his father's things
as if putting away his father's being.
And indeed they both understood
it was a truth they were perceiving.

"I will visit often, Dad" (with a hug) .
"I know, son- you've never told tales."
The son's footfalls echoed loudly
as he left the house of certain smells.