death – Serendippity

$urprises / Legacy

$urprises

I
find
nine bucks 
tucked inside 
a pocket folder, 
twenty-five more stuck in a bag
of wooden hearts, and
six gift cards
for meals,
none
used.

I 
find 
the key
to the bank
that looks like a book
and rattles most intriguingly.
Behold! Another
thirty-five
in bills
and
coins.

Small
change 
compared
to my share
of bank accounts, bonds,
IRAs and more—my parents
generous in death
just as they
were in
life.

Legacy

I
am
grateful
for the chance
to make a difference, 
to fund a well that will provide
three hundred people
water that’s
safe and
close
by,

a
well
that could
last more than
forty years, beyond
my lifetime even. Imagine!
Life-giving for them—
for me, too.
All is
well.
💧

I’ve been tithing my share of the money from my parents’ estate and feel incredibly blessed to be able to help so many people and organizations. There were several Christmases when I made small donations in my parents’ name to clean water efforts, so when I came across Thirst Project, I knew I wanted to fund a well in their memory. Thank you, Dad and Mom! Peace to our ♥s!

Just Saying

What I felt in each instance [when her parents died] was…regret for time gone by, for things unsaid, for my inability to share or even in any real way to acknowledge, at the end, the pain and helplessness and humiliation they each endured.
Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

How easy
it came to us—why
doesn’t Dad
just [insert
action here]: call the doctor,
or get off his butt

and go up
and sit with Mom, or
say something,
or agree
to wearing Depends. Perhaps
it depends on who

is doing
the asking and who
the doing.
This saying
is also true: you don’t know
until you’ve been tried.

The one-year anniversary of my dad’s death is coming up this Monday. He was (not) dealing with his own cancer throughout my mom’s time on hospice. Peace to our ♥s!

Interlude

May He support us all the day long, till the shades lengthen and the evening comes, and the busy world is hushed and the fever of life is over and our work is done. Then in his mercy may He give us a safe lodging and a holy rest and peace at the last.
Cardinal Newman

The one-year anniversary of my mom’s death was this past Saturday. The interlude in the poem occurred a few weeks after she died and lasted only briefly, as my dad went downhill pretty quickly after that. The quote above was on a sympathy card I received. Peace to our ♥s!

Interlude

A feeling from
out of the blue:

Mom did what
was hers to do.

I felt a lovely
buoyancy too

That vanished
as Dad’s needs grew.

The Last Laugh

She
was
known for
such lines as
“I cracked a funny”
and “It’s a long way from my heart.”
Bathroom humor was
a favorite.
Funny,
the
way

she
died,
found by
my sister
(no joke) slumped over
the portable commode, her heart
having given out
just after
using
it.
Ha.

Funny, odd–but also, I think my mom would have gotten a chuckle out of it herself. Peace to our ♥s!

Aftershock

December’s death was a tremor; 
   January’s, major earthquake.
Somewhere in the rubble 
   I’m still searching for the metaphor
That brings to life how I feel 
   now that both my parents are dead.

I don’t feel it quite so strongly now, but still…. Peace to our ♥s!

Terra: from dirt to mother earth

If there were no coffins,

every body

would become fertilizer

and every grave

a place where the grass

is always greener.

^{Poem title from chapter 27 of poemcrazy by Susan G. Wooldridge.}

Peace to your ♥!

So Close

I’m at home
four hours away when
my mom dies
suddenly.
I wish I’d been there. Oh well.
That’s life/death for you.

I’m grateful
my siblings at least
had the chance
to kiss her
goodbye before her body
was taken away.

Now with Dad,
I’m right in the room.
We’re watching
his chest rise
and fall (yes? okay), unsure
how much time he has.

I misjudge,
head to the kitchen
a daughter
and return
an orphan. Seriously?
I missed it again?

Even if
that’s life/death for you,
I still feel
like a child
who’s been treated unfairly.
Do you hear that, God?

Peace to your ♥!

Dad’s Decline / In One Word…

Two poems capturing some of the experience of my Dad’s death. Peace to our ♥s!

Dad’s Decline

He went from walking unaided 
    to walker to hospital bed.
Bypassed the disposable underwear, 
    moved straight into diapers.
In one week! Like a prodigy 
    in the art of dying.

In One Word, How Would You Describe
that Last Week with Your Dad?

At the time—
challenging, wearing.
Afterwards—
brutal. Yes.
It’s a strong, visceral word.
No more questions, please.

What a Friend Told Me

It
took
a year
for the bad
memories to fade,
before she could think happily
of her mom again.
Her words bore
a faint
pink
scar.

A poem from my Afterdeath collection. I’m finding this to be true particularly in regards to my dad’s death. It’s like I have to work my way backwards. Peace to our ♥s!

Secondary Losses

My parents’ house will be auctioned tomorrow. The cars and contents were sold at a general auction this past Saturday. The neighbor’s house in the second poem went under contract not long after being listed. More letting go–more goodbyes. Peace to our ♥s! (For more poems written after my parents’ deaths, click here.)

Preparing for Auction

The estate
is possession-poor,
its contents
worth little,
says the Rawlings appraiser.
He lists what they’ll take.

We begin
deconstructing rooms,
dividing
the remains:
Goodwill, Purple Heart, Junk Dogs.
Boxes, bags, and bins.

We host an
impromptu front-yard
free-for-all
(our payback,
people smiling and laughing,
lugging our discards).

First contents,
then cars, then house will
be auctioned,
forty-five
years of life and living it
going, going, gone.

House Update: A Few Weeks
Before Auction

I’ve
just
learned that
the neighbors
next to my parents
have put their house on the market,
have in fact moved out
and moved on.
Their move
moves
me.

The
wife,
Emmy,
brought my mom
potted plants and cheer
baskets even as she dealt with
her own breast cancer.
I enjoyed
chatting
with
her.

Her
two
daughters
frequented
the free sale, took all
the Ace bandages and tied one
around the belly
of their dog,
like a
sash.
Kids!

One
more
link to
my parents—
cut. Not a huge loss,
I know, but not nothing either.
More like an owie
that only
a mom
can
see.