He was difficult
A challenge
Not very enjoyable to visit
Extreme ideology
A Christian Identity adherent
Vocal, preachy
But I hung in there
He enjoyed the company
Confined to his room
Alone
Dying
In the prison infirmary
©2019 Thomas W. Cummins
Posts Tagged ‘death’
I am fearful, sometimes
October 23, 2014—∞—
At a certain age, I believe
I am standing at a trailhead
Stretching out under my feet
That final path curves out of sight
A hush surrounds
Slowly
I move forward
Uncertain, drawn
Pushed?
Or at the end of a hallway
Long empty walls
No color
No windows
No sound
But echoes poised
My own footsteps
My own breath
For now
Perhaps on a dark desert road
Nothing visible
Beyond the headlights’ arc
No trees
No roadside brush
No stars
Behind, total darkness
Ahead on the horizon a faint glow
Out of reach
Recent health issues
Found me fearful
Anxious
A sense of giving up
Complete surrender
Grudging acceptance
Not of my choosing
Alone
Very alone
It’s not that I’m afraid, per se
What’s next is not of my concern
But I am fearful, sometimes,
About persistent loss, now
Unresolved issues, now
A legacy of being misunderstood
Misunderstood to the point of
Not being loved, honored
Respectfully remembered
Time is running out
Not much to be done
Yet things have become undone
Time is running out
Loved ones unseen
Growing older
Old memories fading
New memories deferred
Or irredeemably lost
© 2014 Thomas W. Cummins
Alone Again Naturally
July 19, 2013Yesterday we visited the remaining spouse of a couple we have known for 49 years. She is now a widow of ten days.
As we talked, I was reminded of the lyrics of the song by Gilbert O’Sullivan, “Alone Again Naturally”:
Couldn’t understand Why the only man She had ever loved Had been takenBut did we have fun!
January 29, 2009Our family began heading for the lake on weekends during the summer in the early 50s and at a time when drives were long, means of travel was on two-lane roads, and smoke-saturated fabric headliners in cars with no air conditioning often led to intense car sickness. Our clothes were stuffed into cardboard boxes, and we were easily identified as visitors in our wrinkly clothes at Sunday Mass. No running water, an outhouse, a one-room cabin built by our parents.
But did we have fun! Boats were small, outboard motors were slow, docks were homemade. The days were spent in bathing suits. When it rained we stayed in and played poker with match sticks for chips. Along our portion of the shore were scattered cabins and a total of 29 kids our age. Several of us had August birthdays. A big fire summoned dozens of people to gather down by the lake for the party. Laughter would linger in the darkness for hours.
One of our “lake gang,” one of the 29 kids, passed away this week.
In a dim light... 