To Be Honest

To Be Honest . . . . “To be Honest . . . . “ A cliché ? It indictes, It implies All else Were lies. But if we are “To be honest . . . .” Then for most, Of death As End, We are afraid. Death in two Parts comes; The Process And the End. Like Birth’s Event and Living. For the blessed, The happy, and The Loved, It’s the End Even more than Process that is feared. She was happy, Serene in her Contentment. Loved by, and Loving all of, Her family. An approaching End To observing Her children, And their children, Achieve and grow, Was a bitter blow. Her quest in Facing a soon And certain death. Was to be brave,

Not complain, And live her Life as normal. After 54 years No secrets. So her pain, Its location, And intensity, Are fully known. So real fear Of Ending Eclipsed that Of Process. But twixt us The pain was known. So on occasion, In her glorious Nakedness, Seeking pain relief In a hot bath, She’d share the fear. With tears She said, Just once, or Maybe thrice, “I don’t want to die.” For reasons known. But, lest They be forgot, They were: To share and observe The family’s lives As they unfolded. But now she’s gone. And in the loneliness of night I revel in her fortitude But “to be honest” Her words that cause me cry Are “I don’t want to die.”

Keith Beavon 21:x:2009

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