A couple nights ago, I woke in the middle of the night in a state of anxiety. A poem came to me and luckily I was able to remember it the next morning. I don't think the poem is just about me. In part I think it was about my Mom and my Dad and their deaths many years ago. But it is also about anyone who is dying and our responsibility (our opportunity) to accompany them--as far as we are able. Some people, those who work for hospice, do this every day. God Bless them!
Night Terror
Middle of night
I wake in a sweat,
heart pounding,
imagining my own death,
gripped by fear of what comes after
and terribly terribly lonely--
wishing someone would hold my hand
accompany me
as far as possible.
[Robert M. Coughlin / April 1, 2014]
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