Open Window [a poem]

These are the days I walk with leaden feet.
I am heavy with the memory of you.
And I wonder.  Am I free?
These were your last days in April.
For me, each feels more than twenty-four hours long.
In the cold nights of April I lay awake remembering
losing you.
I hear the car wheels spin and splash in the icy rain.
I am over thinking the past, again.
And again, heavily blanketed by my disgust
and a sadness I cannot explain.
A sadness I do not understand.
We knew you were dying, though you would not acknowledge it.
Your thoughts once sharp, were flat and strange to me.
Your words once so clear and resolute were fading from us.
Your eyes became vacant, as your smile was fleeting and confused.
I knew we were losing you.
We lost you long before the rainy nights of April came. 
But you wouldn’t let us say goodbye.
I woke on Easter morning feeling the weight of memory and the sounds of the night.
I lay as still as I could, not wanting the day to come.
I sensed the rain was gone.
I heard the bird’s joyous song.  The sun appears.
As I lay there thinking, I knew suddenly with the morning
that freedom comes in looking back and then,
in looking forward out the open window.
Freedom comes.
Yes, I am free
as I allow hope and expectation into my heart.
Freedom is found in the cool morning breeze
of resurrection.