My mother-in-law died quietly yesterday morning, after a long and happy life. She was still playing golf a few months ago – she planned to retire from the game at the end of the year, after fifty years – but illness intervened, and she suddenly had only weeks left to wind up her affairs, say her farewells and drift away from us into that inevitable unknown.
This poem was written for another old lady – Bryan’s mum’s name is Marj – but it seems appropriate. It is heavily influenced by Walt Whitman, in content if not in style.
Soft tender death
Whose breath of sweet release
Will free us from this prison of our flesh
And free from bruises, aches and grief, all pain,
Gentle in her embrace
Upheld by love at last
We look on God again.
Nana was thrilled to meet Juniper , only two weeks ago. It amazes me how much Bryan now looks like his mother, especially in that photo of the four generations. Zoe’s partner, Matt, took the photo.