What do you fear the most?
Ma went around the table
asking each one to tell.
Son was quick off the bat -
losing all of you.
(Isn't that a given, wife said,
misty-eyed, she held out her hand.
Still doesn't stop being a disaster, he said,
unless - you reach an age of 150,
become batty like hell,
and I have to go to god and say,
you're having fun buddy eh?
Isn't it time you took them up!)
Dad mulled a bit, his mind we could see,
rushing through empty spaces,
things he'd lost, with traces like comet tails,
grabbing at what he could catch,
things which glistened -
he sighed - "to forget who you are
as you look down at me
as I take my last breath -
to not know love
or the ones I loved
is to rob myself of the only treasure
I can call my own."
(We were all crying by now,
and daughter said "this is a bad idea, I'm out"
but mum held her arm - hear this out dear,
we are just being real, to know what haunts.)
I thought of life and what it meant,
the love we give, the love we get,
how we strive to make our breath count.
"I just fear not having made a difference
to the world, to you, to anyone,
to take so much of this world's beauty,
and not give something back -
to be mistaken to be merely a taker,
someone who merely wrote and then went to bed.
Wife was gazing out of the window,
as the city twinkled back at her,
a woman who thought deep,
a face of a college girl,
a soul as old as the world.
"I can't bear to go before all of you,
to not hear the changing inflections of your voice,
to not see you beautiful with wrinkles,
to not see you hold a child -
or see the sun rise in your soul.
I want to die a moment after
you all take your last breath -
not a second earlier."
We were quiet, just swallowed
in the depth of what love could be.
Mum had two large tears shimmering
on the surface of her eyes,
a little smile which spelt sad -
I fear not being on my own,
to be the person who needs
to always ask for help -
the hand which helped so many
now reaching out to steady a step -
to lie helpless in a bed,
gazing forlornly at a bedpan.
And daughter was weeping openly now -
there's nothing I fear more than losing this -
this - the way we open our hearts,
and know our universe is here,
what the world brings is advantages,
there is no end to the purses and scarves I collect,
but there will be an end to these voices,
this touch, this look, but none
to this love or the broken heart
I will carry after you
till the end of my life.
And we let the night pause a while,
as we all held hands in an uneven circle,
and let our breath be known,
that we were alive,
and this touch, this look, this smile,
this passing moment,
this colossal fear
but our greatest joy.
If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on togetherness -
Assisted SuicideLiving Tragedy ForwardIf I Commit SuicideSubscribe to my newsletter 'The Uncuts'
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Get in touch with me on [email protected]
The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -
Rising Sun by Sascha Ende
Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/Rising -Sun
Licence: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license
