Michael says: “In this week’s tale weaver I’m asking you to consider the concept of death in a way that you relate to. What does it mean to you? Your experience could be the death of a family member, a loved one, a neighbour. It could be a death as in the end of a relationship. You could use it as my mother used to say: “You’ll be the death of me.”
In your writing explore your feelings towards whatever issue you explore…..it is not an easy topic for many to write about and there is a finality about it….not many return to tell us of their experiences…You could even explore the concept from death’s point of view. Please TAG your post: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and Tale Weaver.”
It occurred to her that there had been more deaths
In her life than she sometimes realized…
Perhaps because they all began with the premier
Mystery: the presumed-death, lost-at-sea, no-body-
Recovered one; secretive circumstances and aftermath
Which impacted her like slow-metastasizing cancer for
The rest of her life—as He was her father, and her molester.
After her mother remarried and they moved
With equal haste and mystery to a new state,
A neighbor’s young child who’d succumbed to
Leukemia was the first dead body she viewed—
A beautiful angel, death’s image lovely and peaceful.
The most traumatic visitation by Death was a savage
Murder: her teenage school friend, an innocent girl killed
By a classmate, no less. Grief eclipsed by terror, it
Would follow her to another state and home as a
Pernicious breathing-dragon; fear that one day the
Guy would be out in the world again, and find her—
Slashing, stabbing, leaving her naked, the same as Kay.
Added to the chaotic, angry tumult of her brief marriage,
Was the death—in her presence—of an elderly neighbor she’d
Agreed to look in on each evening. Though not unexpected,
The passing was sudden; frightening, to observe her facial
Rictus as Death seized the old woman.
Later, neither her step-father nor mother could
Out-run Death. When they died, she would feel
Nothing—no sorrow, no loss—she missed them not
At all. They were always strangers to her heart;
Their absence, freeing.
But when more years rolled on, relocating her again,
Yet another neighbor was spirited away by angels
In the night, and she knew the crashing devastation
Of Death as Thief. Seeing the Christmas card and
Fruitcake she’d left at Tim’s door—tossed in the
Planter by authorities who came to remove his body—
She felt robbed of her purpose in the small courtyard.
And, too, the ache of gaping emptiness; with a piercing
Sharp envy that she didn’t die that same night, to savor
Release from life’s struggles. She often imagined Tim
Healed and whole, smiling on her from Heaven.
Folded in with these deaths and others, was the passing of
The love of her life. He’d never known her, really; they
Exchanged only a few brief notes across miles of ocean.
32 years her senior and long married, he was
The hero of her childhood—and forever.
Love, even unrequited, has magical properties:
Denying his death, she preserved him young
And virile in her heart…unencumbered…a
Ghost more true, romantic, attentive and fascinating,
Than any man she’d met face to face.
Death takes, and it gives; imprisons, and looses.
It leaves us hanging…or provides a secure tether.
Death is filled with neither more, nor less enigma than
Life with its tripping pulse-beat, and infinite peculiarities.
Death is not the “end”, merely the door to life Hereafter.
Bought by the shed Blood of Christ at Calvary,
My destined Home is sealed and certain
In the Presence of God’s eternal glory—
There, joyful hearts wait to welcome me.
©Jael Sook, 2017 All rights reserved.
Image credit: Pixabay
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