Member Poem

The night my father died,
we stood around a bed
in an all-too-familiar room
and whispered our goodbyes.
Four daughters, loving wife,
niece and nephews,
various significant others...
even an ex-brother-in-law
and his new wife.
We told stories we remembered
of love and laughter,
hope and heartache,
centered around a quiet man
who always wanted to help.
He wasn't really there,
inside the shrunken shell
on the bed between us--
kept "alive" by beeps and blips,
by machine magic.
He had already gone,
long before the doctors
told us so,
taking up a new home 
in our hearts and memories.