How Beautiful the Dying

How beautiful the dying.

My mother on her death bed

had become a little girl again.

She lay on her side with her legs curled up,

the blanket almost flat

as if her body had already turned to memory.

I stroked her temple. Her hair

had become silver corn silk,

her skin soft beneath my fingers.

Her expression was relaxed and limpid

no longer bearing the furrows of dementia.

I just kept whispering to her

“thank you, thank you, thank you”,

both to her and to the angels

waiting at the foot of her bed.

She had become beautiful, innocent, transparent by degrees-

and then she slipped away.


One thought on “How Beautiful the Dying

  1. Oh my…Wow! Such an outlook, a supernatural outlook– to see beauty there is a true gift. I pray for your wisdom when my own become weak, and memories…Gerald Manley Hopkins, when learning that he would die of Typhoid Fever exclaimed on his death bed, , “I am so happy, I am so happy. I loved my life.”. It seems as if the same grace to see death for what it was, a stepping into a new life, flooded you, to be able to see with joy what so many can not conceive…And I believe she heard you…clearly…


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