A poem I wrote after the recent death of my 92 year old father pre-Covid.
The week before he died I visited him every day
Fussing
turning off the lights
Bullying him into eating and drinking
Until I let him be
He didn’t want the fuss
Sitting with him till he was sick of me
All this waiting
This hard waiting
So what is it you need to say when there is nothing left to say
When your living body is coming to an end
When you no longer care about everything you should care about
What is this life that is memory upon memory laid down
And those memories hazed
It is now time to dig the clods of earth and bury
the black box now lowered into the neat earth hole
I pick up some clods
With my bare hands
Pink skin
On bare clay
Throwing this earth onto the black casket
Your shell lying still
Your spirit clean peeled away
We all take our turn in this way
()
Love Maxine.
4 replies on “The grave and wonderful matter of life”
Ninety eight is really impressive. There is such pairing down and simplicity in those old years. Almost like there is no time and nothing to be sought anymore. I really loved the beingness of sitting with my father the hospital bed is just the bed. The tired drawn face and me wanting it to be other than what it is. A very pragmatic approach to the end of life. No more toilet paper needed. Enjoy those cups of teas with your grandmother.
Maxine and Deborah, what a wonderful honouring of your grandfather Maxine his spirit ‘peeled clean away’ and your mother Deborah with ‘memories …laid down upon her ancient, ailing body.’ Older people are so very brave, I have seen this with all of my relatives now continuing along the way
My mother at 98
She sits in the kitchen doing her weekly crossword. I make some tea, and check she has enough toilet paper. ‘Oh’, she says, ‘I won’t be here much longer, you take mine.’ I don’t. But I see how long she has waited, in pain, for departure; and I see how, in pain, she still loves to do the crossword and drink a cup of tea with me. I know she will not always be here; I am so grateful for these days, for the memories that are laid down upon her ancient, ailing body. And we all must take our turn.
Thank you for sharing your father’s passing.
Ninety eight is really impressive. There is such pairing down and simplicity in those old years. Almost like there is no time and nothing to be sought anymore. I really loved the beingness of sitting with my father the hospital bed is just the bed. The tired drawn face and me wanting it to be other than what it is. A very pragmatic approach to the end of life. No more toilet paper needed. Enjoy those cups of teas with your grandmother.