End of a Hospital Stay and the Start of I-95

Sitting on the edge,
of the bed I’ve been assigned to.
I hear my mother at the end of the hallway
And my eyes begin to cloud.

I start praying
that maybe
the last four months
have been a
sick April fool’s joke.

My mom and uncle are talking
to the doctor.  He describes to them
which meds I have to take when.
One for the anxiety and depression,
the other to put me down at night.

The elevator ride
to the bottom of the hospital
seems to take forever.
Each time a floor ticks by,
it feels like a year.

Back at my house,
I start to pack up
old letters, picture frames, and love notes
from a time that seems like a book
but one that ends abruptly
with a rather nasty car crash.

I say goodbye to the housemates,
hop into the car
and to try to pass out.
All the while my family
can’t stop talking about
the little bit of snow that dropped.

The ride is long
and states drag by with each hour.
And my uncle and mom
tell stories of my redneck gypsy ancestors
and the pet monkeys they had
that have escaped into the swamps
of Jacksonville, Florida.

We pass the Georgia state line
like crossing the river Styx.
We pull up my parent’s driveway.
I’m greeted at the porch
By my dad, brother and dog.

After the hugs are given out
and everyone retires to their bed.
I’m sitting on the couch,
staring off into the darkness
of the living room.
Doing my best not to cry.

My dog comes over
places his melon sized head
into my lap
and I do my best
just to lay back
and fall asleep.

I really don’t like the 5th stanza here.  Every time I’ve gone to rework it though I can’t quite seem to make anything work and removing it completely doesn’t feel right either.  It has to do with the car crash line. It feels very melodramatic, which I feel like pulls a bit away from the feeling of the poem.  Like I said though, every attempt to rewrite it falls short.