Do I Dare to Share on Death?

What a privilege this week to be present at the memorial service of a 96 year old gentleman. Family and friends laughed and cried as they honoured a well-loved father, grandfather, war colleague and friend. It made me think about my death story. Yes, we all have one, ultimately it cannot be avoided. If we have lived on this earth we will know people who have died on this earth.

Whether it’s Robert Browning’s epic A Death in the Desert, Banjo Patterson’s How Gilbert Died, a tale of gruesome betrayal or the more contemporary, But You Didn’t by Merill Glass or (a personal favourite) Broken Armour by Linda Yates, no-one can deny there is and always will be poetry about death.

Scattered like ashes through the memories of my pc are dozens of stories on this subject but the one I am singling out for today is my own mother’s death. Can I write it without offending siblings or people who saw it from a different perspective? Possibly not, hence I shall use my poetic licence which grants me sanctuary from strong opinions and family ties.

I would like this poem more if it didn’t rhyme but once it was created it would not change and so for now it is just what it is.

As You Take Your Final Breath – memories of Peggie

I want to be so mad at you

For all the pain you put me through

But when I see you lying there

My thoughts of anger disappear

I sit with you this last night

Your body bent

Your hands clenched tight

Your eyes flirt from clock to moon

The witching hour comes too soon

In agitation you sit and rock

Eyes on moon, eyes on clock

The hour comes and then it goes

Your body stressed

Your soul exposed

Delusion weaves a stingy knot

You stare at things that I cannot

What gives you hope or satisfaction?

What could ease your vain distraction?

Squint your eyes, adjust your glasses

Time ticks on, night-time passes

You are confused, you’re agitated

Stolen moments, death’s abated

But it comes – it still comes

And as the cock begins to crow

Your breath becomes more rare - more slow

Finally you breathe your last

What was now - is now the past

And I cry….

and I cry….

and I cry