You’ve Left it all on the Field

You’ve Left it all on the Field 

We joined dad in his room

For likely one of his

last Yankee games.

We lined the beds

like peas in a pod

cheering on our Bronx boys

as they faced their nemesis,

the Tampa Bay Rays.

“Dad, Aaron Judge just

hit a monster home run!”

He forced his eyes open,

eked out a little grin

and lifted his left fist

as a signal of conquest.  

It’s one of the only things

that provokes a response

at this stage of the ball game.

Sports have become the final

channel of cognitive connection,

the last available language 

when there are no more words.

A way of quickening his spirit

in this final push to the finish line.

“Dad, Sanchez just broke

out of his slump with a homer!”

Nothing. No movement. 

Not this time.

So I took my hand and held his,

giving a play by play 

—color commentary—

while his eyes stayed closed.

It’s been 10 days since

he decided to stop dialysis,

so this stupor isn’t a surprise.

He’s nearing a coma-like state,

napping like a newborn.

We’re in the bottom of the ninth

over here on 375 Maplewood Lane.

The bases are loaded 

with two outs and a 3-2 count.

The seventh inning stretch

is in the rearview mirror—

the game is all but over.

It’s been a great run, dad.

You’ve left it all on the field.