Thursday, February 10, 2011

The Best Deaths

A friend I've not met called me today,
As her beloved father near death's door lay
She knows what he wants and she believes in The Light,
But she still wonders what actions would be right.

There are few things as sad as feeling alone
As we send our loved ones to their Eternal Home.
We want to be there for their final breath,
But these moments put our faith to a great test.

How do we remain happy as we say our final good-bye,
Without showing our grief, no matter how we try
To be joyful because they are released from pain,
Knowing we'll never hold their bodies again?

The face, the voice, the laugh, the smells
That said homecoming, within us dwell.
We know that it simply won't be the same
If we never have their physical bodies again.

The best way to handle death, that I have found,
Is to gather with family and friends all around,
To celebrate our memories as we say good-bye
Instead of waiting for eulogies after they die.

Gift of Grace

We're back in Coker Creek, my man and me.
Our dog is as thrilled as she can be,
To be back to guarding every acre and tree.

Inside and cozy, I loved the smell of home.
I knew that I wouldn't, for long, be alone
My prince had reassured me of this by phone.

He had laid in a fire, yet to be lit;
I decided that I'd rather wait for it,
When we could together by the hearth sit.

There's now snow on the ground, as is fitting,
And much downed timber for collecting and splitting.
I could, by the fire, sit with some knitting.

But neither sitting nor knitting are my gifts.
Snow is not on my "favorite things" lists,
And I dread the thought of emergency air lifts.

Richard has already, twice, gone into town;
He's not afraid of the snow on the ground.
Except for emergencies, his thinking is sound.

I live in fear that we'll, while snowbound, die.
When roads are frozen, ambulances take to the sky,
But the patient's spouse is left on stand-by.

I'm also afraid of being alone in the dark,
And while children may think icy ground a lark,
I don't consider winter a walk in the park.

I was raised on fairy tales where princesses were served,
And anything they wished for, they richly deserved;
But my life in reality has thrown me a curve.

My prince is the servant I have, to date,
I fear wearing him out at a rapid rate.
I'd hate for him to look at a more useful mate.

Down south, I'm usually not frozen in place;
His museum work goes on at a steady pace
To live in both places is a gift of Grace.