I Dance Toward My Blessed Death - Original Poetry

Not surprisingly, the poems in my "grief cycle" had a beginning, and this was it.

And, as God and the Universe never ask us to do anything we have not been prepared for, this was my preparation.

The short version is that I had been a member of my meditation group, in Redington Beach, Florida, for about a year and a half; but many of the women in the core group had known each other for twenty years and more.

And one of their closest friends was dying. By choice.

Marilyn, I'm sorry to say I don't recall her last name, had gone through breast cancer once before, went through chemo and radiation, and their terrible and debilitating side effects, and against the odds, beat the disease. For a time.

Roughly ten years later, her breast cancer was back. And she decided not to fight it, but to simply accept it, and allow it to take its course. She had neither the energy nor the will to fight it again. She was done fighting.

As a result, she asked one of her closest friends, Janet, to be her caretaker through her ordeal, which of course would be hard on Janet.

Janet was also a friend of mine, and of the whole group; she was a massage therapist, a true intuitive, and a truly good and loving person. Janet had misgivings, but said yes in spite of them, and the die was cast.

Interestingly, the St. Petersburg Times chose to cover their story in a series of articles, and did so well, with depth and heart and feeling. I wish I had the articles, but I don't, though I read those that my friend Boo had at the time, who was a vital member of the meditation group.

This is the same Boo who encouraged (read: nagged) me to show my art, and to read my poetry in public for the first time, which I quite likely would never have done without her. Thank you, Boo.

So Janet, who in addition to massage therapy, had become adept at aromatherapy and Tibetan bowls, helped Marilyn to prepare for her death.

At one point, Marilyn invited her closest friends in to go through her closet, to pick out something to remember her by. According to Janet, there was a slumber party feel to the proceedings, which as Marilyn's condition had advanced, seems to have given her some pleasure.

And, hopefully, it helped to give her friends some closure.

It was around this time that I was moved to write this poem, and read it at our next meditation meeting. And the response was unanimous, that I had tapped into how they were all feeling, and when I asked if it should/could be shared with Marilyn and her family, they said an emphatic Yes. It can and should.

And so, with Janet's help, my poem traveled with her to Marilyn and her family, and was read to her shortly before her death. And, I was told, it helped her, for which I was grateful.

I would also like to call out Janet, who is the first person who told me that, if she had the money, she would have paid to see my poetry published in book form.

Janet, you will never know how much that meant to me at the time, and how much it still means to me. Thank you.

I Dance Toward My Blessed Death
Though joyful I am anxious yet
While spending well my final breath
Have I yet paid to God my debt?

As silent seasons…seconds go
To boldly exit from the fray
The reasons not for me to know
I welcome death yet still delay

As I let go of all that was
Of all the hurts I’ve held within
I beg forgiveness now because
I realize the greatest sin

For love not granted, love not shared
Risks not taken, friends not made
The loss we could ourselves have spared
Our only truly failing grade

And still undaunted here I lie
Afraid and yet excited too
Afraid, yet not afraid to die
As death can never lose me you

I face with fear and wondrous awe
Yet longing seek forever toward
That time when I shall come to know
My note within the greater chord

The music that is living life
The song that is a part of me
My destiny it seems to leave
A yet unfinished symphony

At last may I bequeath to you
One small request when I am gone
Take up the challenge I lay down
For through you I may carry on

An angel comes, another goes
Into the room wherein I lie
His songs replace the others strums
Yet none can see or hear but I

And yet the song, remaining faint
It louder, more insistent grows
His visage such as none could paint
And I must follow where he goes

My time with you is growing short
My heart and soul are growing light
Though you may feel my touch as
My soul visits with you in the night

For Marilyn
2 March 2000

For Colleen Marie Smith
21 July 2009

Blessings to you all.

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Birds Singing Brightly – Day 76 – Daily Haiku
My Longest Winter's Ending – Poetry -Photography
Grief Makes Me Stupid – Poetry – Humor - Photography

art and flair courtesy of @PegasusPhysics

art and flair courtesy of @PegasusPhysics

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All words and images are my own. The first image is of my multimedia painting, "Spirit Releasing the Chains of Her Past," which I originally showed at the Square Art gallery opening, in a gallery I don't recall the name of at the moment, in Pinellas County,Florida, but I'll check with Boo tomorrow, because she will remember. This was in either late 2005 or 2006. This was on of the first pieces to sell at that show.

The photo of our dog, Lolo, and our late cat, Miod, I took as they were cooperatively begging at the dinner table, despite our longstanding rule of not feeding them from the table.

You can see how much that deterred them both.

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