Accepting Dim Reflections

I’m dying as fast as I can.

Such was the defense of my father earlier this year when I suggested he give up his house and move into assisted living.

He related best to the poetry of Robert Burns. In the closing stanza of poem, Man was Made to Mourn, I glimpse through the glass, darkly, and see how this poet spoke to and for the poor man. And my father.

O Death! the poor man’s dearest friend,
The kindest and the best!
Welcome the hour my aged limbs
Are laid with thee at rest!
The great, the wealthy fear thy blow
From pomp and pleasure torn;
But, oh! a blest relief for those
That weary-laden mourn!


2 Responses

  1. I have not doubt that my step-mother welcomed death, when at the end of her life she didn’t even have the strength to get out of bed, and had to wear depends.

    I hope I never reach the stage that she and your father got to, where death is a “blest relief”, but I can’t say I won’t.

  2. I hope that you and I never reach such a stage. And by that stage I mean, if indeed, my body fails ahead of my mind, I hope that I am mentally and emotionally mature enough to accept that failure as part of my life journey. I do not want to view such a condition as anything that defines me.

    That said, I do hope my exit from this world is swift and peaceful. haha…

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