I have Death on the mind—having attended a funeral this past week and visiting with a sick relative, for an extended period. It has me thinking that how we prepare for dying might be the most important thing we do with our lives…
Below, is a poem of mine I wrote in honor of a work colleague and his inspiring transformation, when he became terminally ill:
In Memoriam
He preferred muted suits:
prison grey, mousey brown
before the death sentence
But illness changed his tastes
as though, dipped in terror,
he somehow acquired color
Blossomed in riotous patterns
sporting vests that grew bolder
as did the stomach cancer
The stealthy advance of blackness
brought forth a gleaming will
the bodily treachery, more trust
And that sweetly spirited protest
meant he smiled more, and softer
opening up as his body shut down
This was his last, graceful stand
emaciated and wasting away
in some way, to give style to death.
