Poem: “On Mortality.”


http://www.mistabobby.deviantart.com
 
 I thought about a time when I would no longer be alive; I could be young or I could be old when I die.

Will my skin be wrinkled, thin like rice paper, with age spots where the sun took his tole. Or smooth in youth, ended early. 

I could have sickness early or later on, as my great-grandmother in her mid-nineties. She died of leukaemia.

Yet her son, my Grandpa, left this world only weeks later, emphysema, the price for years smoking.

But my Dad’s cousin was only thirty when she brushed my blond hair and I saw her never again, the cancer having gone too far.

My other grandfather died young, he didn’t make it until retirement. His heart couldn’t handle it; he lived a hard life. 

When I am a corpse, don’t let me rest in a coffin. Burn me to ashes and return me to the dust of the earth.

Don’t let children poke me, see how rigid my body is. Don’t let my corpse be the last thing my family and friends remember of me.

If I die young, I’ll try to be brave if I look death in the face; but maybe he’ll take me in an instant and there will be no more mourning or pain.

Please don’t sing too many hymns at my funeral, don’t wear only black, sing praise songs and country songs; sing pop tunes and rock ballads. 

Don’t make me out to be a saint or have a processional of cars. Have a happy affair and let people who knew me remember me as they want. 

If you want to know my ‘dream funeral.’ I think it would be a party. A bonfire on the beach or a meeting at comfy restaurant and bar.

If I go before my mother, God take special care of her. Don’t let my brothers forget about her or my Dad.

And if you think it’s morbid to consider one’s mortality. Know we are all moving towards death every day we live.

I live the best I can,saved from sin by a Saviour. But one day I will long to be at rest; the pain of life will disappear. I will go to my heavenly home. 

And I will tell you what my one great -grandma said: When I die don’t cry for me.

You see my life was a journey, this earth my temporary home. And I loved my loved ones deeply and I want you all with me when all is said and done.

One day I want to greet you as you breath your last breath. I want you all in heaven. I want you to believe in a Saviour who died for you, and took away all sin. 

He defeated death and evil so you could live immortality in heaven. And I know some of you are saying it’s only what I believe. 

But, I have faith and faith  is being certain. I don’t bet against the maker of every singular thing living and dead; every rock that does not move and every grain of sand. Of every amoeba, horse, dog, or human. 

If I were to bet my life, I bet it on God. I pray you do too because you believe I had rational thought. Because you can see a light at the end of the cold dark night of death. Maybe, you will see a cross.

——

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

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Sunday Photo Fiction: It’s Her


There sits the statue of a dog. I remember a certain dog.  She had the qualities of queenleness, loyalty, and love. She was the bringer of fun to a childhood of bike rides down the off leash paths and long walks in the river valley. 

 She ran for miles with my Dad. My Mom said it would not surprise her if that is how the dog died, running her heart out. My Dad had a t-shirt that read: My running partner has four legs. The dog didn’t leave this world running; I don’t think anybody does. 

To me the dog  was a snuggle buddy at whatever time she wished. She would jump up on the couch and put her right paw on me and lean into me until a soft furry tummy was revealed. She’d push her nose into my hand and when I put my head down she’d strike with kisses. 

But our best friends, leave us at a time not of their choice. They are inflicted with sickness, sometimes, ill health that a vet cannot even diagnose. I woke fifteen minutes too late to say goodbye to her. I petted her anyways, she had this beautiful soft fawn coat. 

And I stroked her back and her little ears as she lay on the counter in the back of the vet. She was to be cremated. The blanket she was covered with was truly the veil of death, taking her away. My Dad and I tried not to cry as we both went out to the car. But tears escaped us as we drove home.

 No dog is exactly the same, but they are each unique. Their time in years is short, but they are never forgotten. I place my hand on the statue and memories flood my mind. This statue is not of her, but to me, in my heart, it’s Nikki. 

  
Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting!